Rogue Element!
by Mahala
Summary: No one should have made the link between the kidnapping of a young man in Africa, a mysterious shipment in New Orleans and a high profile conference in New York but then no one can plan for the rogue element. A mixture of crime, action and adventure for Mac and an extended team! Rated T for occasional colourful language!
1. Prologue

A/N : I know I may be stretching the bounds of probability with this story but hey this is supposed to be fiction so be nice to me and try to suspend your disbelief! :-D

**Prologue**

The air was heavy with the scent of leather, wood polish and cigar smoke as Ambrose Atlas picked up the heavy crystal decanter and poured out a generous measure of fine French cognac. He lifted the cut crystal glass to his nose and inhaled deeply, his lips twitching slightly as he savoured the rich oak and nut aromas. Replacing the glass he poured a second slightly less generous glass and stoppered the bottle. He carried the two glasses over to the three leather couches arranged in a U shape at the farthest end of the library. He glanced around to make sure they were alone nodding to himself as he saw that all the other chairs were empty.

"Here you are Roger." He handed the second glass to an uncomfortable looking man whose dark grey suit seemed a little too large for him. "A little something to calm the nerves heh?" Roger Clemens nodded nervously and took a gulp of the smooth vintage liquor while loosening his tie. A wealthy businessman, he had worked hard all his life to make his trucking company into one of the most reputable and respected transport businesses in the eastern United States. And now he was about to throw that all away. He tried to smile at his host and benefactor, the man who had sponsored his membership of the exclusive Manhattan club in which they were now sitting and the man who had brought him into The Forum.

Atlas smiled benevolently and settled himself opposite Clemens and next to his closest ally Pierre Moreau. "Now my dear Roger, let's see what can be done about this sticky situation you have gotten yourself into." Roger shifted nervously in his seat under the watchful gaze of Atlas and Moreau.

"I'm sure that … er … if I sell off one of the smaller subsidiaries and make some cuts, I'll … er … be able to raise some capital and repay you..."

"Oh Roger! Roger!" Atlas interrupted with a wave of his plump, bejewelled and impeccably manicured hand. "No need for that just yet. I am sure that we can come to an amicable agreement that will benefit us all. We quite understand your position. After all we have all taken a hit in the current economic crisis." Roger felt the bile rise in his throat. He couldn't imagine that Ambrose Atlas had taken a hit if his lifestyle was anything to go by. You only had to look at his handmade shoes, tailored suits, his chauffeur driven cars and private jet to see that his lifestyle hadn't been affected by the downturn. "We are all friends here and we want to help you now as we have helped you in the past. All we need is for you to help us in return."

Roger Clemens felt sick as Atlas pointedly emphasized the latter part of his phrase. "What is it that you want from me?" he whispered.

"Let's say that we have need of your services to transport some rather … delicate material." Atlas looked at Moreau and allowed himself a little smile. Moreau could see, as he could, the beads of sweat forming on trucking giant's face. Clemens ran a finger around his collar.

"What kind of material?" he stammered.

"Oh nothing for you to worry about. But we are counting on your … discretion." Again Atlas emphasized the last word and Clemens swallowed heavily. "Just as you can count on ours." At this, Moreau slid a brown envelope across the table and gestured for Clemens to open it. Clemens put down his glass and picked up the envelope. He pulled out a wad of photographs and felt his stomach turn as he saw himself sprawled across the silk-draped bed with several young girls not much older than his own daughters. _Why had he accepted that invitation? He should have known __better._ He stuffed the photographs back into the envelope and closed his eyes. "Now don't you worry about a thing Roger. You get yourself back home to Lizzy and your delightful girls and let us handle everything. Pierre here will ensure that your loan is extended and that the paperwork is secured safely. One of our associates will contact you in a few days regarding our shipment."

A shadow detached itself from the wall and glided silently up behind Roger Clemens. He shuddered as he felt the bony fingers touch his shoulder. "Angel will accompany you to the airport won't you Angel?" The tall, pale-faced individual nodded and gestured for Clemens to follow him. "We wouldn't want you to miss your flight." Roger Clemens threw one last desperate look at the two men in front of him and knew that he had lost. He rose without a word and left the room followed silently by Angel.

Pierre Moreau reached for his cognac and swirled it around the glass. "Are you sure about this?" he asked as he watched Clemens leave.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures Pierre. Clemens is the last piece of the puzzle. If this works out we shall recoup our losses threefold and we will be back where we were before." Atlas glanced at his friend. "Not getting cold feet are we?"

"No, of course not. It's just that you are taking a huge risk with Clemens. If he finds out what we intend to do..."

"If he does then we will take care of him. Stop worrying Pierre. We have been through this a hundred times. We have everything covered." Ambrose Atlas took a sip from his glass. They had spent months perfecting this plan, covering all the angles, all the eventualities. He had put in place contingency plans and he had resources at his beck and call should something totally unforeseen happen. After all you could never plan for the rogue element, just merely handle it when it turned up. "Now what news from our Corsican friend?"

.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

.

Six pairs of eyes fixed him with glassy stares, looks of horror and disbelief on their faces. Mac Taylor leaned back in his chair at the head of the conference table with a sigh. This was not going well. "There a problem?"

Danny was the first to recover the power of speech. "Are you out of your mind?" he spluttered.

"Danny ..." Mac began, his face taking on an exasperated look, but he was unable to get another word in edgeways due to the barrage of questions. He held up a hand and glared at his team. "Look! You know as well as I do that all forensics labs have to be independently accredited. This is no different. "

"Why you?" asked Jo in a low voice as her eyes bore into his.

"Like I said they felt that I had the right profile for the job." For some absurd reason Mac felt a twinge of guilt under her piercing gaze. He looked away.

"But a whole month?" gasped Lindsay. "Normally it only takes a few days, a week at the most."

"They want me to do some extra training, review their personnel, help supervise the setting up of their new ballistics lab and make recommendations for additional facilities and … I'm going to take a few days on the way back to catch up with an old marine buddy I haven't seen in along while." Mac waved a hand nonchalantly as he glanced around the table.

"Whoa! You're taking a vacation?" giggled Adam which earned him a Taylor glare.

"Have you already given them an answer?" asked Sid tentatively as he played nervously with his pen. Mac inclined his head. "What about your own safety?"

"That's already taken care of. I will have a personal escort at all times."

"So you're going?" asked Sheldon looking distinctly unhappy.

"You're all perfectly capable of keeping this lab running without me for a few weeks." Mac smiled at them but his stomach flipped a little as he realized his team wasn't taking this as well as he had hoped. Danny was fidgeting in his chair and Lindsay looked positively shell-shocked. Sheldon's lips were drawn into a hard line indicating he was unhappy and he was clearly having an unspoken conversation with Sid who looked equally put out. Mac caught Jo's eye again at the other end of the table and he felt uneasy at the play of emotions he saw there. "Look this isn't the first time I've done this." They all stared at him.

Adam frowned in confusion and waved his pen in the air. "Er … done what? Accredited another lab or … gone to Iraq?"

.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

_**.  
**_

As Mac cleared up the last of his files from his desk and forwarded his calls to the switchboard, Jo walked in clearly on her way home. He smiled at her but his smile faded a little as he caught the look of anguish on her face. He took a step towards her concerned by the look in her eyes but before he could say anything Jo blurted out: "You will be careful won't you?" Mac frowned and opened his mouth to speak but again she cut him off. "Just be careful please!" She suddenly stepped forward and raising her hand to his face she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "Please,"she whispered, and with that she was gone leaving Mac standing alone in his office, the Manhattan skyline twinkling through the window behind him and the lingering scent of her perfume filling his nostrils.

For a moment Mac felt slightly sick and he wondered if, somehow, Jo knew what he was up to but he knew that was impossible. Mac cast his mind back to beginning when his old friend had called him. Marty Schaeffer. General Schaeffer. Mac had to smile to think of his former commander as a desk-bound General. How the years had passed! It had all seemed so simple at that moment as they sat there in the overstuffed leather armchairs overlooking the Hudson savouring a fine twelve year old single malt Scotch. Mac reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph that Marty had given him. He ran his thumb over the picture. So simple. Mac closed his eyes for a second and then stuffed the picture back in his pocket. He grabbed his jacket and switched off the lights and took one last look at his office and his lab. He nodded to Adam who was watching him through the glass walls before heading out into the night.


	2. The Venue

**Chapter 1 - The Venue**

Jo Danville grabbed her case, jumped down from the Avalanche and stared up at the glittering tower of steel and glass looming above her. It seemed to sparkle invitingly like a flower attracting bees. The convention centre was bustling. Delegates swarmed everywhere, ID tags pinned to their shirts or swinging from multicoloured ribbons around their necks. Cabs pulled up to unload more visitors as the people leaving jostled to take their place. Fashion week was in full swing and judging by the number of participants alone business was booming. Jo turned away from the front of the centre and made for the police cars discretely parked to one side where Don was standing talking to a uniformed officer. He raised his hand in greeting and gestured for her to follow him.

"It's crazy around here. Not only are there five thousand attendees at Manhattan Mode but there's a gala dinner for the opening of the new mezzanine extension and the annual general meeting of the New York Association of Hygiene Product Manufacturers!" Jo looked at him quizzically. "Don't ask!" Don rolled his eyes. Jo laughed.

"What do we know so far Don?" she asked as they rounded the corner of the building and entered the side door of the convention centre.

"Patience Jo! Patience!" Don grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows. "Sheldon is just about to display the evidence for you." Jo looked at him strangely but decided it was probably best not to ask that either. Besides she felt too exhausted for anything complicated. It wasn't that work had been overwhelming. If anything it had been a little quieter than usual. They'd even managed to complete the yearly inventory in record time and they had closed two cases leaving two more that only required DNA evidence to confirm their existing findings. Jo was exhausted, not because of work but because she wasn't sleeping well, and though she was still in denial she knew it was because of Mac. He had been gone two weeks, five days and nineteen hours and even though he had called several times she hadn't heard anything in the last four days.

She pulled herself from her reverie as Don led her across the loading space, past a large white truck with a large blue and green abbreviation on the side that was pulled up to a loading bay. They climbed the steps and Don pulled aside the plastic curtain for her to step through. Sheldon looked up as she entered and raised a hand for her to wait. Then he and two other officers bent down to move one of the rolls of carpet that had been stacked in a neat pile to the side of the door ready for removal. Jo noticed five other people standing around staring in horror at what was happening. Two were clearly convention centre employees who were shaking their heads furiously and talking in hushed tones to a severe-looking woman in a tailored black suit who was impatiently drumming her long scarlet fingernails against a tablet computer nestled in the crook of her arm. The two others who stood to one side nearer the door appeared to be delivery men. Jo noted the company logo CTC on their shirts identical to the one painted on the van standing at the other side of the plastic curtains. One of the men was gripping a clipboard like it was a life-raft, his eyes like saucers as he watched Sheldon photograph the pile of carpets. Placing his camera on top of his case Sheldon bent down and gripped the edge of the near-most carpet. He nodded to the uniformed officer who had mirrored his movements and together they pushed. The dark blue carpet slowly unfurled and rolled towards Jo and Don. Don stuck out a foot and halted its progression. Silence fell as everyone looked at the body of a man sprawled in the centre of the carpet.

"Ta! Da!" announced Don with satisfaction. Jo rolled her eyes and put down her case. She pulled a pair of gloves from one pocket and then took the plastic bootees Sheldon was holding out to her. "It seems our two convention workers over there were looking for their trolley and they noticed the bulge in the carpet. Think they were surprised to find a pair of shoes at one end." Jo looked over at the two men who swallowed heavily under her gaze. Carefully covering their shoes to avoid cross-contamination Jo and Sheldon stepped onto the carpet and crouched down by the body of the man.

"Caucasian, early forties, clear signs of strangulation." Sheldon pulled back the collar to show a thin red line around the man's throat. He lifted one of the eye-lids to reveal the man's blood-shot dark eyes. "Signs of petechial haemorrhaging. No obvious defensive wounds but there's blood on his finger-tips." Jo nodded as she searched the man's pockets.

"Nothing. Strange. Robbery gone bad?"

Sheldon nodded in agreement. He opened the suit jacket. "Mmm. French labels … wait … what's this?" There was a small bulge in the jacket lining. Sheldon carefully opened the small, almost invisible zip fastener and took out a slim leather wallet which held a photo ID. He showed it to Jo his eyebrows knitting together. Jo gasped as she looked at it. Don, who had been waiting at the edge of the carpet, craned to see what they were looking at as did the two delivery men.

"What is it?" Jo and Sheldon turned to look at him. "Who is he?"

"According to this, his name is Jean-Luc Gallet and he's a lieutenant with Interpol."

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding as Sheldon made his way into the autopsy room. Sid glanced up and peered at him over the top of his glasses. "You got anything for me Sid."

Sid straightened up and stretched the kinks out of his back. He unclipped his glasses to focus on the younger man. "Well I can confirm your original findings as to the cause of death. Definitely a garotte. Look at this." Sid turned to a computer and put a close-up photograph of the man's neck on the large screen suspended over the autopsy table.

"Very distinct markings," Sheldon muttered to himself. "Wire?" He looked questioningly at Sid who nodded in agreement.

"Cheese wire to be exact, probably wielded by someone who was left-handed." Sheldon looked impressed as Sid continued. "The wire is very sharp. As you can see it has actually broken the skin in a number of places hence the blood on our vic's fingertips." Sid simulated trying to loosen a garotte. "The indentations on the right side of the neck are deeper than on the left suggesting more force was used with the left hand. "

Sheldon nodded seeing where Sid was coming from and leaned closer to peer at the man's neck. "If he was attacked from behind, the perp looped the wire around his neck, crossing his hands and pulled down harder with his left than his right indicating a left-handed man."

"Exactly. And … I believe that this isn't his first victim." Sid's eyebrows lifted and a slight smirk curved his lips.

"What?" Sheldon's jaw dropped as he twisted his head to look at Sid.

Sid looked a little embarrassed, nervously running a hand down the back of his hair. "I ...er ... subscribe to forum for pathologists where we share information about unusual cases ... unsolved murders, strange murder weapons, bizarre findings. This particular method has come up in a case in Hawaii."

"Hawaii?"

"Yes, my good friend Max wrote up a case about a year ago that has an identical MO. A local man by the name of Lee Chang who runs an import-export business. Case is still unsolved as far as I know." Sid held out a file. "I ... er ... took the liberty of printing out the details and adding it to my findings … you know … just in case."

"Okay thanks. Sid, what would we do without you?"

Sid beamed with pleasure.

Sheldon devoured the contents of the file as he made his way back up to the conference room where he found Don and Jo comparing notes.

"The drivers check out." Don was saying. "They were there for a regular pick-up. I even have a copy of the docket." Don waved a piece of paper. "They were due to pick up the carpets and take them for recycling and then go onto the port to pick up a load of plastic balls." Jo arched an eyebrow. "For a ball-pit at a kindergarten in Queens." Don shrugged. "What is odd though is that the two guys who were due to take up the carpet in Hall 4A and move it to the loading bay swear that they rolled only half of the carpet before their shift ended. They left it there last night intending to finish off this morning in time for the pick-up. However when they got to Hall 4A they discovered that the carpet was gone so they assumed that someone else had been assigned to finish off the job. Cruella De Vil assures me that was not the case. She can offer no explanation as to how the carpets got moved there or how a dead body got inside."

"Cruella De Vil?" laughed Sheldon as he sat next to Don.

"Ah come on Doc. You saw her. All she needed was the fur coat. I'm sure she flays all the convention centre workers with those nails of hers. She'd have no problem skinning puppies."

"There are times I worry about you Don." Sheldon placed the folder on the table chuckling at Don's mock hurt face. "Now Sid has some fascinating information for us."

While Sheldon was updating Jo and Don, Lindsay and Danny were stood in a darkened room in front of a row of monitors. Totally unaware of the epithet now assigned to her, Alicia Davenport drummed her red-painted fingernails on the desk in front of her as the small bespectacled man tapped away the keyboard in front of him. "You must have something?" she snapped.

Freddy cringed at her sharp voice and glanced nervously at her nails. Danny waggled his fingers and threw Lindsay a look to indicate that he thought that Don may have a point which earned him a dig in the ribs. "Er … the security cameras don't operate when the power to the hall is off," Freddy stammered glancing apologetically at Danny and Lindsay. "But there is footage from the hallway..."

"Can you show us that?" asked Lindsay kindly feeling sorry for the nervous little man.

"Er .. yeah!" He glanced nervously again at his boss. "Just give me a minute."

"Miss Davenport, could you tell us what Hall 4A was being used for?" asked Danny hoping to distract the over-bearing woman from terrorizing the poor guy.

"Er … oh!" Alicia Davenport turned away from Freddy and looked at Danny as though irritated by his interruption. She poked at her PC tablet and ran a manicured nail down the screen. "It was being used as an extension to Manhattan Mode to showcase up and coming talent. Their little show finished last weekend so we started dismantling yesterday." Her disdain for the up and coming talent was evident. "The carpets were due for renewal and are to be replaced tomorrow with Aztec Green … lovely shade … chose it myself … ready for the Global Peace Forum which starts next Monday." Alicia Davenport narrowed her eyes and stared hard at Danny and Lindsay. "I do hope your investigation will not impede the set up of the hall. We are on a very tight schedule. We have over five hundred delegates and some very important VIPs. I cannot allow the schedule to be interrupted. The carpet has to be laid tomorrow to allow the seating to be set up on Thursday. We're due for lighting, sound and security set up on Friday and Saturday with a final security check on Sunday. Woe betide us if we're not ready," she finished dramatically waggling a blood-red claw in their direction.

Danny and Lindsay didn't fail to miss the gulp and shudder from Freddy. Danny screwed up his face. "I thought all VIPs were very important," he muttered earning himself another dig.

"What?" asked Alicia not quite picking up Danny's comment.

"Danny!" hissed Lindsay.

"Er I've got it ..." Freddy announced. They all turned to look at the screen. Freddy fast-forwarded the video feed.

"Hold it. Can you rewind that?" Lindsay pointed towards the screen. Freddy stopped the image, rewound it and hit play. A tall figure walked away from the camera down a long dimly lit corridor pushing a braked pallet truck piled high with the two meter rolls of carpet.

"Who the bloody hell is that?" Everyone turned to stare at Alicia as she in turned stared open-mouthed at the darkly robed and hooded man on the screen, the only visible part of his body being his long pale fingers that gripped the handle of the pallet truck. Alicia swung out of the room. "Where is Derek? I'll skin him alive." Lindsay had to concede. Don and her husband did have a point!

.

.

A/N : Couldn't resist a little nod to Max from Hawaii 5-0 who ranks up there with Sid, Ducky and Quincy on my list of favourite quirky MEs!


	3. The Call

**Chapter 2 – The Call**

Pierre Moreau glided across the spacious sun-lit office, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. He brushed at the stain on his tailor-made jacket and slid into the comfortable leather chair facing the enormous wooden desk. He watched as Nancy nervously placed the coffee jug on the tray and waited until she left.

"What news?" asked Ambrose Atlas as he leaned across the desk and poured himself a cup of coffee, a rather fine Kopi Luwak. Moreau tried to hide his distaste for his colleague's extravagant beverage that claimed to be the world's most expensive coffee. Although Pierre considered himself something of a connoisseur when it came to gastronomic delights, he put his foot down at coffee produced from beans that had passed through the digestive tract of an Asian Civet cat no matter how well they had been washed. He waved his hand silently refusing to partake of the beverage and brushed again at the stain where Nancy had bumped into him earlier. It was a good job that Ambrose didn't know she had spilt some. He would probably have taken it out of her pay.

"Good news and not so good news," he intoned with the barest hint of an accent. "The shipment is being intercepted and re-routed and will be here on schedule. Customs will find nothing and spend several weeks doing it." Atlas nodded. "The weak link in the chain has been taken care of. However, our little boy wonder is still missing." The rattle of the cup against the saucer as Atlas replaced it on the polished wooden desk was the only sign that he gave of his annoyance.

"I thought that Amir said he would take care of that at their alternative rendezvous?"

Pierre nodded. "It seems that they anticipated that and took measures to avoid Amir and his men. They got away but not by helicopter which Amir disabled."

Atlas allowed himself to relax a little. "Then they are still in the area?"

Pierre made an irritated little gesture with his hand. "Yes, yes ... and Amir assures me that the problem will be taken care of within the next twenty-four hours and that our boy will be recovered and his so-called rescuers … will be eliminated," he finished ominously.

Atlas allowed himself a smile and reached for the elegant silver coffee jug. He poured himself another cup. "Excellent. Be so good as to keep me informed of the situation but tell me Pierre, what of this fourth man?"

Moreau laced his fingers together, a slight frown crossing his handsome saturnine features. "A veritable enigma, my friend. We still have not been able to identify him. Our source at the Pentagon assures me that only a three man Special Ops team were sent in, highly-trained, efficient, lethal. They are used to working as a team. As far as they are concerned there is no fourth man."

Ambrose Atlas stirred his coffee absent-mindedly. "An enigma indeed. And you are sure he is not a local recruit, someone they brought in after they landed to help reconnoitre the area?"

"Absolutely. According to Amir he is a westerner. No local in the area would dare help them. Amir is quite sure of that. He rules that area with an iron fist."

Ambrose smiled widely and lifted his cup to his lips. "That he does and I'm sure he'll have this matter cleared up in no time." He savoured a sip of coffee before adding. "But do ask him to find out the identity of this man before they … eliminate … him. I am most … curious as to his involvement." Ambrose continued to sip at the dark liquid as Moreau left without another word. _Yes you could never plan for the rogue element, just merely handle it when it turned up and Ambrose trusted that Amir would handle this one._

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

The power boat skimmed through the water, it's pilot handling the controls with the ease of a man born on the sea. He glanced at the radar image on the control panel in front of him to confirm his heading. A dark shape loomed several hundred yards ahead of him. He could see the running lights but not the name of the ship but he knew it was the right one. The boat tossed and bounced as it encountered the waves created by the wake of the ship but the pilot didn't flinch and merely swung his boat round to match the speed of the larger ship. He was still on a intercept course. He smiled a small lopsided smile that looked more like a grimace. Ever since being slashed with a knife inhis teens, the scar had caused the skin on the left side of his face to tighten and he was never able to form a true smile. But he smiled now as the small light flashed again. Three times. They were waiting for him. He pulled the boat closer and closer. The powerboat, though large for it's size, was dwarfed by the huge container ship. As he drew alongside he could see it's name printed on it's rusting hull. The Bella Rosa. This was it.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

The gentle strains of a jazz quartet floated in through the open window as Stella Bonasera threw herself down on her couch and made a grab for the TV remote. She zapped through a few channels before settling on a fashion show. She smiled as she recognized the New York Convention Centre with its futuristic steel and glass construction standing by the Hudson river. Her stomach fluttered a little. She still missed her old home despite now feeling quite settled in her new one. It had been an exhausting few weeks and the lilting, accented tones of some Italian designer commenting his latest collection was all she felt she could cope with. They still had four outstanding cases with a ton of evidence to process. The next quarterly budget meeting was looming on the horizon and she had five staff out with a case of food-poisoning. She made a mental note to find out the name of the restaurant they had been celebrating in and get it shut down. She was reaching for her glass of wine just as her phone started ringing. "No no no!" She groaned and flicked off the sound on the TV.

Stella peered at the caller ID but was surprised to see it was an unidentified number. "Hello?" The line crackled but there was no answer from the other end. She was about to hang up when it crackled again and she caught the sound of her name. "Hello? Who is this?"

"_Stella?_" The voice sounded like it was coming from Mars but it was still distinctly his.

"Mac?"

"_Stella. Listen I don't have much time. I need you … to do something … for me ..._" His voice was distorted and there was a lot of interference. The line crackled again and she could hear people shouting urgently in the background.

"Mac, are you all right? Where are you?"

"_Stella. Listen. There's a shipment …_" A loud bang interrupted his flow and she heard him swear. "_...coming in to New Orleans. C ... T ... C … you have to intercept … _" Mac's words were lost in a blast of static before the line went silent.

"Mac? … Mac!" For a moment Stella thought the line had been cut but then his voice came again but louder this time.

"_Try to hold them off. Give me another thirty seconds ... Stella you must stop them. CTC transport – the Bella Rosa … _" The background noise resolved itself and Stella could clearly hear shots being fired.

"Mac where are you? What's happening?"

"_Jesus!_" A loud explosion caused Stella to jump. "_I've got to go. The Bella Rosa … stop them Stella!_" The line went dead and Stella was left staring at the phone. What the hell was going on? She hit the speed dial on the phone and skimmed through the list to Mac's number. It went straight to voice-mail. She hesitated for a second then grabbed the TV remote and flicked to a major news channel. She scanned the headlines that scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Nothing. No mention of New York, just another political scandal, another financial crisis in the banking world, civil war in some far flung part of the world, a report on the future withdrawal of troops from Afghanistan. She wasn't quite sure what she expected to see. She thought for a moment and then scrolled through the contacts on her phone again. She stood up and walked to the window looking out at the street below where she spied young couples walking hand in hand, a group of young people out about the town, an older couple heading to the jazz club opposite,and Elijah still sitting outside the bodega with his cap in his hand. Nothing out of the ordinary. For some reason she felt annoyed as though something should look different.

There was a loud click in her ear as her call was answered. "Lindsay? I'm fine. You?" she began as she tried to wrap her head around what had just happened. It seemed so surreal that she was beginning to wonder whether it wasn't just a figment of her over-tired imagination. "Lindsay, this may sound a little strange but do you happen to know where Mac is right now?" As she listened to her friend she felt a chill spread down her spine. "Lindsay, I think he may be in trouble. He just called me … I don't know … we only spoke for a matter of seconds … but it sounded like he was calling from a war-zone."


	4. The Forum

**Chapter 3 – The Forum**

The elevator doors swished open and an elegant woman in a pale grey suit stepped out onto the 35th floor. Jo jumped up from behind Mac's desk and stepped forward to greet her. "Lieutenant Rossi? I'm Jo Danville. It's good to meet you." The woman smiled and nodded. "I'm very sorry for the loss of your colleague."

"Thank you Detective Danville. Jean-Luc was an excellent agent and a good friend. It's hard to believe that this has happened to him." Jo nodded at the younger woman's words and serious demeanour. She gestured for the Interpol officer to follow her.

"I had rather expected you to be Italian." Jo was surprised by her visitor's clipped English tones.

Elsa sniffed. "My husband was Italian. My father was English and my mother was Dutch-Indonesian."

Jo smiled and decided that Elsa must favour her father with her fair skin but take the dark coloured almond eyes and silky black hair from her mother's side. She also noticed that she spoke of them all in the past tense. "With all those nationalities it's no wonder you ended up in Interpol." Elsa gave a small dispassionate laugh as they stepped into the conference room. "Allow me to introduce you to Dr Sheldon Hawkes, our medical examiner Dr Sid Hammerback and Detective Don Flack." The three men shook hands with their visitor and they all sat down.

Elsa looked around as though expecting someone else. "Mac's not here?" she asked. For some reason Jo felt as though she had been slapped. Perhaps it was the casual tone with which her visitor used Mac's first name or the hint of intimacy in the woman's smile. Jo glanced at the others. They looked as clearly surprised as she was.

"Er … no. He's away accrediting another lab." Jo watched her visitor carefully.

"Oh that's a shame." Elsa was clearly disappointed. "It would have been so nice to get together again. I must try to get over to New York more often." She reached down into her briefcase and pulled out a file and a tablet computer. "I have been asked to give you all the assistance I can in this matter." She smiled at all present.

Jo recovered quickly. "Yes well perhaps you could tell us what Jean-Luc was working on?"

Elsa nodded and passed Jo the file. "He was part of a task force looking into a group calling themselves The Forum. We believe that they are a consortium of powerful businessmen who are conspiring to manipulate the stock markets. Jean-Luc was something of a financial expert. He believed that this group were using insider information to buy and sell shares, manipulate the price of oil and gold and further the interests of their own businesses."

"Who are these men?" asked Sheldon.

"We're not entirely sure. Jean-Luc's files suggest that three of the members are James Grant, a British national and a high-grade plastics manufacturer, Vassily Ychenko, a Russian national based in the Balkans who has a number of steel manufacturing facilities, and Rodrigo Cortès, a Spanish national who owns a conglomerate of companies that specialize in the manufacture of parts for the automotive and aeronautic industries. Jean-Luc was currently investigating another man, Pierre Moreau. He is the head of MRM Industries,a chemical giant in France with large subsidiaries here in the US. He has attracted particular attention because his companies have some large contracts with defence contractors and..." Elsa paused and tapped at the screen of her tablet PC. "...because of his ties with this man." She turned the tablet for them to see. The detailed line drawing depicted a swarthy looking man somewhere in his late thirties, heavy set eyes with big bushy brows and short wiry hair that stood up from his head like a brush. The artist had given him a menacing glare but what stood out most was the scar that ran from the corner of his nose to his chin giving him a permanent sneer. "We don't know his real name. He has a dozen aliases but mostly he is referred to as the Corsican. He's an arms dealer and gun for hire. What concerns us most are his ties with Al-Qaeda and the insurgents in Iraq." All four members of her audience flinched imperceptibly as they heard the word Iraq and in light of Stella's call to Lindsay, each of them couldn't help but wonder what the hell Mac was doing.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

Mac eased his aching body down onto the hard ground and tried to make himself comfortable but no matter how he shuffled some part of the rough stone wall behind him still seemed to pierce through his sweat-drenched khaki shirt and into his back. He drew up one leg and stretched the other out in front of him. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and allowed himself to catch his breath. He could have sworn that every inch of his body was covered in dust. He desperately wanted a shower and for once in his life he felt he could sleep for a day, he was so exhausted. His eyelids felt gritty and itched like hell. He forced his eyes open and looked at the pale-faced young man opposite him. He too had closed his eyes and he had both arms wrapped protectively around his legs gently rocking himself back and forth. He seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible. The young man jumped as another man entered the room. Mac automatically lifted his rifle but relaxed immediately as soon as he recognized the newcomer. "It's okay Davy!" he said softly. The young man opposite looked at him with glazed eyes but the flicker of recognition was enough for him to relax again.

The newcomer eased himself down next to Mac. "It's all quiet Major. Rogers and Hicks have got first watch." He looked across at the young man who had buried his head in his arms again, his legs still drawn up tight against his chest. "How's he doing?"

Mac sighed. "He's struggling. He's weak and he's injured. The drugs are beginning to wear off but he's still confused. The sooner we're out of here the better." Mac fixed the younger man with a questioning stare.

"Well Major that's not going to be easy. How the hell did they know about the back-up rendezvous?"

Mac thought for a moment. "That is a very good question. That's twice they've got to us."

Ben Holland looked Mac sharply. "Speaking of which, how did you know it was a set-up? Back the compound I mean?"

Mac shrugged. "I'm a forensic scientist. I spend my life looking at details. The man who was sitting at the camp-fire cooking..." Ben frowned as he tried to remember what unusual detail had caught Mac's eye. "...well, we watched him every day for four days. He always stirred the pot with his right hand until the night we attacked. He was stirring with his left and his right hand was lying in his lap hidden in the folds of his robe. I asked myself why would he suddenly use his left hand to stir and the most logical conclusion was because he had a gun in his right. "

Ben huffed slightly disgusted with himself for not having noticed that, a detail that could mean the difference between life and death in his line of work. "Well I'm glad you noticed that otherwise we'd all be dead. I'm sorry I should have..."

"Not your fault." Mac's eyes blazed. "They knew we were coming. They were expecting us there and at the back-up rendezvous. Our mission has been compromised right from the beginning either at HQ or here ..." Mac left the words hanging.

"No Sir!" avowed Ben adamantly. "Not Rogers or Hicks. We've worked together for almost six years. I trust them with my life. The leak has to be back at HQ." Ben looked sideways at Mac. "I … er … don't suppose you have a backup plan Sir."

Mac grinned at the younger man and shook his head. "Hey don't look at me. I'm just along for the ride, remember? And it's Mac, not Major or Sir!" Mac reminded him. "Why? Have you run out of ideas Captain?"

Ben Holland gave a half-hearted laugh and ran a hand across the dark stubble on his chin that gave him a rakish air. "Just right now ...yeah!"

"Well you've done a damned fine job of keeping us alive up until now." Mac closed his eyes, a hint of a smile gracing his dirt-streaked face. "But give me five minutes sleep and I'm sure I can come up with something. Give me ten minutes … and it might actually work."

Ben Holland laughed again, glad for a little humour. He leaned back next to Mac and closed his eyes, exhausted from the past few days. He had had his doubts about this mission especially after being told what had happened to the first one and more so when the General had discretely told him he'd be having an unofficial guest along for the ride but he had soon discovered that the NYPD Detective was an ex-Marine and still one helluva soldier despite his age. Right now he was very glad that Mac Taylor was on his side. Between them they might even get out of this alive. He opened his eyes and glanced once more at his companion. It was clear that the older man was utterly drained but even as he slept he conveyed an aura of authority. Ben Holland couldn't help but wonder why this man was willing to risk his life in order to get Davy Schaeffer home.


	5. The Conference

**Chapter 4 – The Conference**

Stella walked into the New Orleans AV lab, a somewhat less grand affair than the one she had left behind in New York, and pulled up a chair in front of a bank of four screens. "What have you got for me Lacey?"

Lacey's smile reached from her full lips to her dark chocolate-brown eyes. Research was her forte. She pointed to the first screen displaying the CTC web site. "CTC has four major branches. A road haulage service that serves almost every state on the East coast. A shipping service between New Orleans and the Mexican Gulf coast. Large storage facilities in and around the state of Louisiana and a more recent acquisition, a local air freight service." Pointing to the second screen displaying the image of a container ship, she continued. "Now the ship you mentioned – the Bella Rosa left the port of Marseilles twelve days ago. She does a regular run between Marseille and New Orleans. She's due into port tomorrow morning."

"Her cargo?" Lacey shrugged and tapped at her keyboard. A long list appeared on the third screen.

"Everything. Machine parts. Breathalyser tests. Egyptian Cotton. French perfume … wouldn't mind a little of that! Italian shoes … wouldn't mind some of those either. It's a long list. What exactly are you looking for Stella?"

Stella sighed. "I wish I knew Lacey. I wish I knew."

"Stella!"

Stella span round in her chair as Frank Mitford strode into the room sporting a bright orange shirt. The homicide detective waved a sheaf of papers at her and nonchalantly perched himself on the corner of the nearest desk. "A little birdie told me you were looking into CTC?" Stella nodded and suppressed a smile knowing full well that the little birdie in question was sitting next to her. It was perfectly clear to everyone that the burly homicide detective had a soft spot for Lacey. "Well as you know I don't believe in coincidences so whatever your friend told you must have some truth to it." Now her curiosity was peaked. Stella looked questioningly at the detective. "Because the managing director and chief executive officer of CTC was found drowned in his pool two hours ago. A man by the name of Roger Clemens."

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

As soon as Jo said her goodbyes to Lieutenant Rossi, she waltzed into the AV lab. "Okay Adam. Let's roll." Adam tapped away and looked up at the monitors. The first monitor flickered and Stella appeared seated between an attractive young African American woman with the kind of smile that could make your day, and a large handsome man with a square jaw wearing a lurid orange shirt. The second screen flickered and a fair-haired man with piercing blue eyes appeared. Jo nodded a greeting to Stella who smiled in return. They eyed one another for a second, each curious about the other. "Stella, this is Gregory Hames, our liaison with the US Embassy in Baghdad. Perhaps for his benefit, could you tell us exactly what Mac said to you last night?" Jo might have added for her benefit too because at that moment she would have given anything to hear Mac's voice.

Stella nodded and though she appeared calm and professional, she felt anything but; her stomach was churning and she was filled with a nervousness she hadn't felt since Mac had disappeared with a bank robber calling himself Joe several years before. She took a deep breath. "His call was brief. We weren't able to get a fix on the number. He didn't specify where he was calling from but I distinctly heard the sounds of an explosion and gunfire." Adam shifted nervously in his chair displaying the unease that Jo was desperately trying to hide. "The connection was bad but he wanted me to stop something – a something that was coming into New Orleans on the Bella Rosa. It's a container ship that set sail from the port of Marseille and is due in here tomorrow morning. He also mentioned a company called CTC. It's managing director and chief executive officer, Roger Clemens was found drowned this morning."

"CTC?" Jo looked at Sheldon. "That was the company that was picking up the carpets at the convention centre."

Stella jumped at her words. "What?"

Sheldon placed the palms of his hands together. "Yesterday evening the body of an Interpol officer, Jean-Luc Gallet was found wrapped in an exhibition carpet being picked up by CTC at the convention centre here in New York. He was strangled with a fine wire, possibly cheese wire. He'd been dead at least twelve hours. We have security footage of a hooded man with pale skin pushing a pallet cart with the carpets on it just after TOD. The prints have been wiped but we've got a team processing the carpet and Danny and Lindsay are over at the convention centre now trying to see if they can't find further clues."

Jo picked up where Sheldon left off. "We were told that Jean-Luc was looking into the activities of a group of businessmen calling themselves The Forum. In particular he was interested in a French industrialist called Pierre Moreau and his links to a man known only as the Corsican."

"I've heard of this man," came a deep voice. Everyone looked at the second screen where Gregory Hames had been listening intently to the discussion. "He is rumoured to be supplying local insurgent groups with arms and he is also wanted here in connection with the murders of a local law enforcement official and a customs officer."

Sheldon leaned forward in his chair. "Were they strangled?"

Hames shook his head. "No, they were shot. We have ballistics evidence linking the two killings but only hearsay regarding the perpetrator. We have no formal ID on the man and he left little forensics evidence but I've been led to believe that our lab here have a new lead thanks to Detective Taylor."

There was silence for a moment then Stella asked. "Mr Hames, do you have anything on the whereabouts of Mac Taylor?"

Hames shook his head. "I can confirm that he was indeed at the lab but his duties there finished some days ago. He was due to fly out ten days ago but there is some confusion as to whether he actually was on that flight." Hames shuffled uncomfortably. "The administration here is not always as efficient as it should be. I'm afraid we've lost track of his movements as of ten days ago."

"Mr Hames, do you know what forensics evidence Mac turned up?" Sheldon asked out of curiosity.

"Er … not exactly … it had something to do with … er … shells and his god-daughters eyes."

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

Fifteen minutes later Jo was stood in Mac's office staring out of the window. She sensed someone come up behind her. "Are you okay?" Sheldon asked. Jo turned around and offered a weak smile.

"I had a bad feeling about this the moment he told me he was going." Sheldon nodded sympathetically knowing what she meant. "From what Hames was saying the lab accreditation was genuine but Lindsay was right, that only takes a few days."

"Hames confirmed that Mac was at their lab for just over a week. But he's been gone almost three. What the hell has he been doing for the last ten days ?"

"I wish I knew Sheldon." Jo grimaced in frustration. "I can't seem to get my head around this. What is Mac doing in Iraq that involves the murder of a shipping magnate in New Orleans, a mystery shipment from Marseille and the death of an Interpol agent here in New York?"

"I think we might be able to provide some answers to that." They turned around to see Don standing in the doorway with a tired-looking man leaning heavily on a walking stick. "This is General Martin Schaeffer."

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

Mac looked up as Hicks gestured from the door. Looking over at Davy who was curled up on his side wrapped in a long dark overcoat, Mac hauled himself up trying to ignore the stiffness in his limbs and tiptoed to the door.

"All quiet Sir. You sure you don't want to rest some more. I can manage."

Mac shook his head and patted the younger man on the shoulder. "Don't need so much sleep at my age and you need to be at the top of your game. We're relying on you." Hicks smiled gratefully as Mac turned away and headed silently to a rocky outcrop leaving the young man to duck inside the abandoned shell of what had once been somebody's home. As he settled in Mac scanned the dark barren landscape. He shivered. It was amazing how cold the night seemed after the heat of the day. His eyes quickly became accustomed to the darkness. It wouldn't be dawn for a couple of hours but already there was a lightening of the sky on the horizon. Mac continually scanned the terrain for danger, occasionally raising his rifle and peering through the scope to check that the flickers of movement were nothing more than a night scavenger out in search of a snack. As he sat and watched he thought back to that meeting with his old friend. At that moment he would have given a year's salary just to be sitting in one of those comfortable leather armchairs overlooking the Hudson savouring that fine twelve year old single malt Scotch.

"_What's wrong Marty? I can tell something is troubling you." Mac glanced at his old friend out of the corner of his eye not failing to notice how he kept rubbing at his knee, an old wound that had plagued him since their time together in Desert Storm, a wound that he had got saving Mac's life._

"_You remember my son Davy?" he asked in a tone that left Mac feeling that he was not going to like what was coming next. "Six months ago he was working in a refugee camp on the Somali border when he was abducted with a group of aid workers. We believe that al-Shabab were behind the attack. However, when the ransom demand came ... it was only for the other aid workers." _

_Mac felt sick at the pain in his friend's voice and waited for him to continue. "To cut a long story short I discovered that Davy had been handed over to al-Qaeda and taken to Iraq. A month ago he was spotted at a training camp for a local insurgent group outside of Kirkuk. A rescue attempt was made several months ago but failed because ... " The older man sighed and rubbed his eyes. Mac waited for him to compose himself. "... because Davy refused to go with them. He said that he was with his new family now and that he didn't want to come back."_

_Mac's frown deepened. "Stockholm Syndrome? He's identifying with his captors?"_

_Schaeffer nodded. "It looks that way but the leader of the rescue mission believed that he had help. He swore that Davy was drugged. He was thin, beaten, malnourished. He was confused Mac. He needs help."_

_A feeling of dread crept into Mac's stomach. "Why are you telling me this now Marty?"_

_Schaeffer gave a short laugh. "You always were a perceptive man. Straight to the point." Schaeffer turned to face him. "I … er … heard that you have been asked to accredit the new lab in Baghdad?" Schaeffer laughed again at the look of surprise on Mac's face. "I may be a desk-bound general nearing retirement but I keep my ears to the ground. I'm sure that you have some reservations about going but … Mac I have recently received information as to Davy's whereabouts. He's being held by a group of insurgents in a small compound some eighty miles north-west of Baghdad. They're going to send in another team, one of the best. I'm afraid that he won't come with them ..." Schaeffer licked his lips nervously. "... but he might if he saw someone he knew." Schaeffer pushed a photograph into his hand. Mac looked down at the picture of himself in uniform with a small boy by his side. "Someone he used to call his favourite uncle."_

_._

_.  
_

_A/N : Hope I haven't made this too complicated. Thanks to all who have reviewed. They are much appreciated.  
_


	6. The Message

**Chapter 5 – The Message**

"I had no right to ask him, to play on his sense of honour..." The general slumped in his chair at the look on their faces. " I know that but I was desperate. I want my son back. I've just been diagnosed with cancer and I just wanted to see my son again, know he was safe before..." Martin Schaeffer looked at the group around him. "I'm so sorry..." His voice trailed away. There was a moment's silence, no one being able to speak.

"We understand ..." Sheldon began his voice low and even as he tried not to betray the maelstrom of emotions coursing through him. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"They wouldn't tell me much other than that the team had attained their objective. They had found Davy and called for extraction..." For a moment the man's eyes sparkled but he looked down as he continued. "... but for some reason they couldn't make their original rendezvous and requested the back-up location. They made contact again indicating all was well and then all hell broke loose. HQ lost contact with them and there has been nothing from them since."

Jo sank her hands into her face. She felt sick to her stomach. "Do you think they 're dead?" she whispered.

"No I don't believe so." Jo looked up sharply at the older man opposite her. He must have been quite handsome in his day. Jo could imagine him as a team leader, tall, fair-haired, intense blue eyes. Schaeffer may have aged, worry lines written deep in his face but the eyes still held a strength even though it was clear his body was letting him down. He was smiling at her. "Mac left me a message ..."

Jo's heart leapt. "But I thought you said that there had been no contact ..."

Schaeffer held up a hand. "There is a satellite that passes over the area every twenty-four hours. The pictures show that the helicopter was destroyed probably by a rocket propelled grenade as were two cars. There are signs of a fire-fight but the only bodies were those of locals, and mostly regrettably those of the pilot and copilot. The last pass showed a lot of activity in the area. My experts tell me it is indicative of a search pattern but what I found of particular interest was this ..." Schaeffer pulled out a cell phone and angled the screen towards Jo. She frowned not making sense of what she was seeing.

Adam leaned across to peer at the screen. "May I?" Schaeffer nodded and handed him the phone. Adam's fingers flew across the screen for a few seconds and then he pointed the phone at the large screen at the end of the conference table. He flicked an index finger across the cell phone's screen and the image jumped to the large screen.

"Well I'll be damned!" muttered Schaeffer to himself. "Didn't know it could do that! Could you enlarge the bottom right quadrant?" Adam handed back the cell and turned to the computer doing as the General had asked. As he enlarged it they could clearly see the burnt out wreck of the helicopter and two cars. The site of the failed rendezvous. "Now could you focus on the rocks at the bottom of the picture..." Schaeffer waited till the picture was just right before continuing. "...and rotate it 180 degrees."

"And this is significant?" Don asked looking at the strange arrangement of rocks.

"After I was injured in Desert Storm I had to take a desk job. I took over one of the aerial reconnaissance teams. We're trained to look for this kind of thing. Mac knew that and he tried to send me a message".

Sheldon who had been deep in thought for a few minutes suddenly spoke up. "Those rocks have been specifically laid like that. It's a message from Mac." Schaeffer beamed at him as though he was his star pupil. "Those are his initials." Sheldon pointed at a group of rocks.

"What?" Adam screwed up his face desperately trying to figure out how Sheldon could see an M and a T. Even Jo and Don looked nonplussed.

Sheldon grinned. "It's an M and a T superimposed." He looked at the others who were staring at him in surprise. "He always doodles it in the margin of his notepad when he's stuck on those interminable monthly budget conference calls."

"Is that a crucifix next to it?" asked Adam.

"No I believe it's a dagger." Schaeffer linked his fingers together and looked at Sheldon whose brows drew together in a frown.

"A dagger? A symbol of betrayal?" offered Sheldon. Schaeffer nodded pleased. "Betrayal by whom?"

"I believe that Mac is trying to tell me that there is someone at HQ who has betrayed them. It is rare for HQ to lose contact with a team completely. Even without the communications link from the helicopter they had satellite phones and a transponder. None of them are working. They have been switched off. That is why I came to you. Mac asked me to come to you if anything should … go wrong..." The man's voice broke a little as he spoke. They all instinctively knew what Mac had asked but they weren't ready to go there yet.

"But you still think they're alive?" asked Jo hopefully.

"Yes I do, because this was left sometime in the last six hours." There was a silent sigh of relief.

"So do you have an idea who the mole at HQ might be?" asked Don.

Schaeffer nodded. "It has to be someone on the team directly involved with the op. They keep these things to a restricted few. Even the information I receive is limited. Now I know who most of them are and I've done a little discrete checking and..." He pressed a few buttons on the phone and handed it to Adam. "...I believe this man looks like a prime candidate."

Adam took the phone and transferred the data to their system. A military ID appeared on the screen. "Lucas Mattelli," read Don. "Communications specialist. What makes you think it's him?"

"I've asked around and it seemed Corporal Mattelli has a bit of a gambling habit. However, recently he seems to have been uncommonly lucky. He has suddenly repaid all his debts and has been throwing a lot of money around. Claims he won it in a game of poker but what few friends he has left don't seem to think so. I was rather hoping you could tell me where it came from. According to Mac your Adam here is something of a whizz-kid at this kind of thing." Adam turned a bright shade of pink before looking at Jo.

"Adam, do what you can … discretely!" Adam nodded and handed the General back his phone before leaving them.

"What do you think Mac will do now?" asked Sheldon.

Schaeffer offered a half-smile. "What he always does … Improvise, Adapt and Overcome!"

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

"Okay what have you got for me?" Stella walked into layout and all three members of her team raised their heads.

"Okay we have processed Roger Clemen's clothes." A serious-looking young man with short-cropped ginger hair and freckles answered as he looked at her over the top of his glasses. Gabriel March pushed his glasses further up his nose. "But any evidence has been compromised by the water. We have trace from under the vic's fingernails. Blood so it looks as though he may have scratched his attacker but ..." Gabe lifted his hands.

"Don't tell me." Stella sighed. "It's been compromised by the chlorine in the pool." Gabe nodded apologetically. "Okay anything else? Preferably good news."

Lisa, a plump young woman with short fluffy hair nodded. "Yeah, Darcy pulled what looks like a shell from the vic's mouth. Don't ask me what it was doing there! I'm trying to identify it now but it make take a while."

"Maybe not!" They all turned around as Lacey joined them having just caught Lisa's last words. "You said shell right?" Lisa nodded. "Stella after your call I looked up the words Lucy and Eyes. Got all sorts of hits – some really weird stuff - but one is a shell." Lacey beamed at them.

"Fantastic! Go on," Lisa begged her as Lacey searched for the information.

"Here we are. Typically found on the shores of the Mediterranean and in particular the beaches of Corsica, l'Oeil de St. Lucie is a round shell generally less than two centimetres. It has a rounded side and a flat face with a pink spiral. It is considered to be a lucky charm particularly for fishermen, and is considered to bring wealth and ward off the evil eye."

"Whoa!" Lisa turned around and picked up a small transparent evidence bag. "Like this?"

Lacey held up a photograph. Stella's head flicked back and forth between the two. "Identical," she muttered. "So Mac finds this shell at the murder scene of a law enforcement official and a customs officer in Baghdad and we find one here in the mouth of Roger Clemens."

"Does that mean that this Corsican is here in New Orleans?" asked Lacey.

Before Stella could answer, Frank Mitford joined them. "We have a problem."

"Oh great! Now what?"

"Sorry Stella, but Customs say there is no way they can search that ship. Not enough manpower. Also the powers-that-be won't sanction extra people for a full search based on some hearsay from an NYPD officer gone rogue!"

"What?" Stella was fuming. "Mac is not some NYPD officer gone rogue ..."

Frank Mitford held up his hands in surrender. "Hey don't shoot the messenger … we're just going to have to narrow down the search. Customs say that can hold any containers due to be picked up by CTC for twelve hours but without more to go on …"

Stella put her hands on her hips. The answer was there in the details. She looked at her team. "Okay bring everything you have to the conference room. Let's see if we can't make some connections."

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

Over a thousand miles away, a similar team sat around a similar table scattered with paper, files, photographs and half-empty cups of coffee. Jo stood at the interactive white board as everyone gave their input.

Sheldon Hawkes peered at the images that Danny and Lindsay had brought back.

"What do think Doc?" asked Danny. Sheldon picked up a close-up of the long thin fingers gripping the handle.

"Above average height, possible scoliosis, arachnodactyly … could be Marfan's Syndrome. It's a genetic disorder of the connective tissue. People with Marfan's tend to be unusually tall, with long limbs and long, thin fingers. Could be a line of enquiry – leave it with me."

Jo nodded. "Do we have anything from Jean-Luc Gallet's clothes or the carpet? Or shouldn't I ask?"

Lindsay shook her head in despair. "Too much. You name it, it's been trampled through there! We have absolutely everything from dog faeces to coconut and lime shampoo."

"Well at least we know how our perp got in and out. He walked in through the loading bay. Went straight to Hall 4A. Waited for our vic to arrive, rolled him up and wheeled him back to the loading bay. He knew exactly where the cameras were. Kept his head down at all times. He wiped everything he touched." Danny leaned back in his chair. "What we don't know is what Gallet was doing there in the first place and how our perp knew he was going to be there?"

"Did Lieutenant Rossi have an idea why Gallet would have gone there?" asked Sheldon.

For some reason, the name of Elsa Rossi make Jo bristle. "No, all she said was Gallet was looking into the activities of Pierre Moreau. She said she would get back to us if she turned up anything else."

"I don't get it." Don frowned. "According to Elsa, Moreau has close ties to this Corsican. Clearly our perp is not the Corsican who's short, barely five – seven with dark hair, dark skin and built like a brick out-house. So Moreau's now working with two killers?"

As if to answer his own question, Don's cell rang. "Flack," he answered abruptly. "Yeah what?" He looked around the table. "Actually they're all here. I'll let them know." Don ended the call and leaned back in his chair with a look that clearly said he knew something they didn't.

"Spit it out Don!" Danny moaned exasperated clearly recognizing the look.

"Moreau's dead!"

"What?"

"Yep. He was found a half hour ago at his penthouse. Strangled. Guess you had better go get your cases." Four beepers went off indicating that they had each received a call-out. "Yes!" Don punched the air. "I have always wanted to do that."

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

Ambrose Atlas walked around the back of the chair and paused to stroke her silky black hair. Such beautiful hair. "Yes, my dear. It is sad to lose a good friend but he was becoming a liability. Pierre had allowed to Gallet to get too close and it was really very foolish of him to let him find out about the venue. Now tell me what else did you manage to find out?"

"Very little. They don't have much to go on at the moment." Atlas smiled to himself as he breathed in her delicate perfume. "Detective Danville, who is in charge of the case, has footage of Angel but they are unable to identify him. They have no lead other than to Pierre and I am sure that the 'evidence' that we left for them will keep them occupied for a bit." They both laughed. "There was one thing that puzzled me; as I was leaving she went into a teleconference. I recognized her predecessor, Stella Bonasera who is now in charge of the New Orleans lab."

"Dear, dear, that is most unfortunate. How did they make a link between New York and New Orleans?" Ambrose Atlas straightened up and walked back to his desk. "See if you can find out? Do you have any contacts at the New York Crime lab?"

"I did but he seems he's away accrediting another lab. What was strange was that no one seemed to be able to tell me when he was coming back. You'd think they'd know when their own boss was due back."

"Your contact is the boss of the New York Crime lab?" Atlas was impressed by her assets but as he took in her long smooth legs and full breasts he knew how she got much of her valuable information.

"Yes Detective Mac Taylor." Elsa Rossi purred. "It would be fun getting something out of him." A slight edge to her voice caused Ambrose Atlas to look at her sharply. Clearly this man had irritated her in the past. Ambrose chuckled to himself. Perhaps there was a man able to resist her charms after all.


	7. The Plan

A/N. Thank you tlh45, smuffly, CSIFlea and Marianne for reviewing so faithfully. Hope I haven't got too complicated with the plot and that it's beginning to come together. (For Marianne, a little Mac action (not too much saving it for the finale). (For Smuffly, now you'll know what I meant when I say it looks like I plagiarized your story LOL)

**Chapter 6 – The Plan**

"Holy cow! That was awesome!" Rogers, the youngest member of the team grinned at Mac, clearly impressed.

Mac cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable at the younger man's earnest admiration. "Yeah, well … sometimes the old tricks work best," he muttered.

"Come on Rog, give us a hand. Grab his feet." Hicks' urging turned the young man around and he ran to help his comrade move the bodies from the road. Ben Holland was already wiping their tracks from the road with the dried out branches of a bush. Mac shook out the blanket and brushed dust from his hair as he walked back to the decrepit looking Toyota Land-Cruiser that they had now acquired.

He climbed into the back next to Davy. "Are you okay Davy?" he asked gently.

The younger man nodded. "I dreamed you'd come," he whispered, tears in his bright blue eyes so reminiscent of his father's. "You and my father. That you'd come to rescue me but I thought it was impossible … I helped them. They made me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

"Davy. Don't worry about that now. I managed to pass on the information you gave me about how they're getting the explosives into the country. It's going to be all right. Stella will find them. Right now, we need to focus on getting you out of here and back home to your father. Okay?"

"Okay." Mac's heart lurched at the look of total trust from his friend's son and prayed that he could fulfil what he had promised. Rogers and Hicks, having disposed of the four bodies piled into the car, followed by Ben Holland.

"I can't believe that actually worked." Ben Holland twisted around to face Mac as Hicks put the vehicle in drive. "You know they could have run you over."

Mac shrugged. "Nah, these vehicles are old, They would have wanted to preserve the tires. They had to stick to the tracks." Ben shook his head in disbelief that their plan had worked without anyone firing a shot and giving away their position. "You know you could take up a career in acting when you've had enough of the military. That was a pretty convincing death scene." Mac wondered where Ben had got the blood from but, on second thoughts, decided it was best not to ask.

The three soldiers laughed. "How would you know? You were buried under a blanket and six inches of sand."

Mac faked knocking sand out of one of his ears. "Tell me about it," he joked making them laugh all the more and helping to ease the tension that built up over the previous thirty minutes. Truth be known he had been absolutely terrified. As soon as he had spotted the tell-tale wisp of dust on the horizon he knew that a patrol was heading their way. As he alerted the others, he knew they couldn't make a run for it. It was a miracle that Davy had made it as far as he had. They needed transport and the Land-Cruiser heading towards them was their only option. Having spent two hours scoping the terrain there were only two options for an ambush, one being the ruined house where they had sheltered and the other out on the dust track that was the closest thing to a road. There was very little time to plan let alone discuss options so despite them thinking he was crazy they went along with it.

The worst part had been lying in the dip in the centre of the tracks with the filthy blanket over him almost choking on the dust and listening to the engine getting closer and closer. He had prayed that the rising sun would blind them enough so as not to notice his shape in the road although Ben had done a great job of disguising him. It had taken all of his self-control not to move as the Land-Cruiser passed over him and stopped just ten feet away. He'd heard the car doors open and the men get out. He listened to their cries of surprise as Ben had executed his dying scene some thirty feet at the other side of the car. He had risked a look and as predicted all four men had got out of the car, three of them advancing towards Ben leaving the driver by the door and more crucially by the radio. Mac had quietly raised himself up, slipped out from under the blanket and moved swiftly up behind the driver. He wrapped an arm around the driver's throat. His old training came back to him and with one quick movement the man went limp in his arms. Caught up with Ben's performance in front of them the other three men didn't even notice. Mac moved swiftly towards the right-hand most guard while Hicks who had been partially buried off to the left moved out from his hiding place and took the guy on the left. The man in the centre turned around to discover his two fallen comrades and was quickly dispatched by Ben before he could react. Ben and Mac gathered up the weapons, and the two radios as Rogers pulled a lethargic but obedient Davy out from a hiding place some twenty yards away and bundled him into the car.

Everyone had sighed with relief that part one of Mac's crazy plan had worked. Now they just hoped part two would as well.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

Atticus James swigged the last of his soda and ignored the incessantly ringing phone on his desk. He turned to his team leaders. "Okay, we're gonna' pull aside these eighteen containers off the Bella Rosa and run full checks. Here's the list." He handed round sheets of paper ignoring the groans of the men in front of him who wanted nothing more than to finish their already long shift and get home. "Tom, I want you to get your men to do an eye-ball check on the others." Tom rolled his eyes. "Look I don't like it any more than you do but this is a question of national security. Anything that seems suspicious and I mean anything, you let me know A-SAP!" he finished firmly. All the men nodded and trudged off to relay their orders. Atticus James plonked himself down in his chair and looked at the screen in front of him. A number of flashing red lights indicated delays in unloading and loading. He grabbed at the soda can having already forgotten he had finished it and on discovering it was empty, threw it into the nearest bin with a look of disgust. As his phone started ringing again, he picked up the business card that she had left and looked at the name. _Detective_ _Stella Bonasera_. "Dammit, I picked a hell of a week to give up smoking!"

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

Jo Danville looked around the penthouse apartment. "Nice," she muttered as she took in the floor to ceiling windows with their view over Manhattan.

"Yeah, bet this place costs a packet." Don raised his eyebrows as he scanned the room with it's leather sofas, glass dining table and it's unusual _objets d'art_. "What the hell is that supposed to be?" Don grimaced as he studied an amorphous white sculpture which appeared to have three breasts.

Jo shrugged. "Sometimes it's best not to ask. Sheldon?"

"I would estimate that our vic has been dead about five or six hours. Same M .O., as Jean-Luc Gallet." Sheldon Hawkes looked up from where he was kneeling by the body of Pierre Moreau sprawled on the floor by the sofa. He turned back to the body and pulled a long blond hair from the vic's shirt and peered at it closely. He then picked up the fallen champagne flute noting the red lipstick traces and lovely clear fingerprints. "Too good to be true," he muttered as he popped it into a bag. "Gotta be planted."

"No prints," called Danny from the front door. "Handle's been wiped clean. Hey babe, you got anything?"

Lindsay entered the apartment. "Video surveillance shows it's the same guy as the convention centre. Same height, same dark robe. Looks like he entered via the alley behind the building and took the emergency exit and came up the fire escape stairs. No cameras."

"Oh great!" Danny looked at Jo hopefully. "You don't want us to dust the whole thing do you?" Jo merely smiled and arched an eyebrow indicating that was exactly what she wanted them to do.

"Look on the bright side Danny Boy!" Flack grinned. "You get at least three hours uninterrupted time with your wife." Both Danny and Lindsay rolled their eyes and grabbed their cases as they headed towards the stairs.

"There's some kind of stain on his sleeve," muttered Sheldon. "Could be coffee."

Jo looked at the sleeve and at the man's out-stretched hand. She dropped to her knees and peered under the sofa. "Ah ha!" Jo stuck a gloved hand under the couch and pulled out a slim white tablet computer . Standing up she tapped at the screen surprised to see it open directly to an agenda. "His appointments calendar has a lot of entries. He's a busy man. Meetings, appointments, lunch, dinner, breakfast... There are various entries marked AA," she remarked scrolling through the agenda. Jo tapped again. "Huh? This is odd. One of the last incoming mails is from an account called BlackWidow66." She held up the tablet for Don to see.

"Contact lost. No ID on fourth man. Not part of official op. Not local." Don read. Don frowned as Sheldon stood up.

"An unofficial fourth man not part of the op. Could that be referring to Mac?" Don shuddered involuntarily as Sheldon spoke aloud the words he had been thinking. "Did he answer?"

Jo tapped the outgoing mail. "Er no but he has sent several mails since … er … appointment confirmation … hotel reservation … wait what's this?" Again Don peered over her shoulder.

"RedHawk99," read Don. "Essential you recover lost package. AA requests you identify fourth man."

"I think we need to get this back to Adam."

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

Adam Ross was getting frustrated. "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" He jabbed a finger at the keyboard and ran his hands down his face. "Too much information! Think! Think!" He took a deep breath and imagined Mac standing at his shoulder.

_What have you got so far?_

"I've pulled Lucas Mattelli's credit card statements and bank accounts. He's had three unusual payments into his account over the past two weeks and another three about four months ago."

_So that would correspond to the times that the rescue operations were launched to bring Davy home?_

"Yes. Each of the payments came from a bogus lottery company that is part of an anonymous group with an account in the Caymen Islands. I can't identify the owner of the account."

_What else is there?_

"I've dug around his email and there is nothing other than the usual messages but he could be using his smart-phone to log into another email account but unless I hack into the phone company..."

_Adam! His imaginary Mac shot him a dirty look._

"Sorry Boss … no more hacking! Promise!"

_There is always something Adam. You've just got to look at the details. For the thing that looks out of place, that stands out from the rest._

"Yeah, right. The details … wait a minute, the details." Adam pulled up the credit card statement. "The day before he gets each payment he always goes to the same coffee house. He orders the same thing. It's always the same amount." Adam changed computer and typed in the name of the chain of coffee houses. "Okay free internet access in all their branches so they could have computers."

_I think you should go and get coffee Adam._

"Yeah I think I should too. Thanks boss!"

_No thank you Adam._

Adam smiled to himself blissfully unaware that the two lab techs who had stopped by the door were wondering why he appeared to be having a conversation with an invisible friend.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

"Detective Bonasera?" Atticus glanced down at the seal in his hand as he squeezed the phone between his ear and his shoulder. "One of my men found something unusual. The seal on one of the containers you requested we pull. Well, it's been broken and resealed. We have checked and there is a discrepancy in the weight. One crate is definitely missing. I've just emailed you the details." Atticus listened for a moment. "You're welcome." He put the receiver back in its cradle.

"Is that it then?" asked the tired looking man in front of him. Atticus nodded. "All that effort 'cos some idiot stole a case of fancy French perfume? Hardly a matter of national bloody security. I'm off and I had better get paid overtime for this." He slammed the door on the way out. Atticus sighed and turned back to his computer screen with its flashing red messages. The phone started ringing again.

"Stuff it!" Atticus pulled open the drawer and grabbed the packet of cigarettes.


	8. The Target

A/N. Thank you tlh45, smuffly, CSIFlea, Marianne and guest for continuing to review so faithfully. So glad I haven't lost you yet but you're going to have to wait a little for the action chapters. Almost there but first it's time to bring the teams together!

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**Chapter 7 – The Target**

"Okay Jo, I have something." Jo twisted round as Adam came rushing in. "I checked Lucas Mattelli's accounts and he has been using a coffee house in Arlington. Fortunately all their branch computers are networked and use a remote maintenance program that is really rubbish and is supposed to wipe all the user data but in fact it is only a ..."

"Adam?" Jo stuck up two fingers and slowly pushed them towards one another. "Short version."

"Oh right yeah. Okay … well it seems Lucas was using a an account called BlueBoy1412. He sent a dozen messages with details on the op to rescue Davy Schaeffer to someone called BlackWidow66 who in turn sent messages to an account called GoodDoctor451 – that's Moreau's account, the one he accessed from the tablet you found under the couch."

"Okay so where does this leave us?"

"Well, I checked the BlackWidow66 account and this account is almost always accessed from a number of internet cafés in Washington with the exception of the last message sent. This was sent from a café here in New York yesterday afternoon." Adam held out his tablet and Jo read the message there.

"Good doctor compromised. NY have made link with NO. Please advise." Jo thought for a moment, the ring on her thumb drumming out a little tune as she tapped it against the desk. For some strange reason it reminded Adam of the funeral march and he gulped nervously. "Adam, do you think you can find footage from near the coffee house around the time this message was sent?"

"Er yeah … er I can see if there's some NYPD traffic cams or CCTV … er am I looking for anyone in particular?"

Jo turned to face him, her eyes full of anger. "Yes! An Interpol officer by the name of Elsa Rossi."

.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

.

"Curtis Maine?"

"Yeah." The small bespectacled man with a CTC baseball cap looked up from his tablet PC, his stylus poised in the air as Stella Bonasera approached, her badge held out.

"I'm Detective Bonasera, this is Detective Frank Mitford. You were expecting a shipment of French perfume from the Bella Rosa to be delivered today?"

"Er, yeah but it's been delayed in customs ..."

"I know. That's because I asked them to hold it. One of the cases is missing from that shipment. What I need to know from you is why?" Stella stuck her badge back on her belt and stared intently at the warehouse manager who face was a mask of confusion.

"Huh? How the hell would I know that? I haven't even got them yet."

"Actually yes you have." Frank Mitford turned around and waved. A large truck slowly backed into the warehouse. "I take it you track all the crates by bar-code?" Maine nodded.

"Good. Then get checking. I want to know which one is missing and where it was supposed to go." Maine stared at the pair like they had gone mad.

"Now?" he asked timidly.

"Now!" Curtis Maine gulped at the intensity of their demand and the urgency that seemed to be etched into every muscle of their faces. He grabbed his radio and made a call.

Stella was impressed by how quickly the crates were removed from the container by reception forklifts, scanned and shifted onto the enormous storage racks. Within forty minutes Frank and Stella had the answer to their question.

Curtis Maine ran the stylus across the screen as he stood by the forklift with a pallet of seventeen crates piled onto it. The young driver peered at them curiously from the cab. "Okay this shipment is the one with the missing crate." Stella and Frank peered over his shoulder. "It was due to be shipped overnight to our Brooklyn warehouse and ..." He tapped at the screen with his stylus. "... then it's due to be delivered on to Hall 3 of the convention centre in New York the day after tomorrow for the cosmetics fair." Stella and Frank looked at one another, thanked him curtly and left without another word leaving the poor man bewildered.

Jed, the young forklift driver looked at his boss. "So what the hell was that all about?"

Curtis Maine lifted his hat and scratched his balding head still staring at the space the two police officer's retreating backs. "I haven't the faintest idea."

.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

.

It was getting late as Don Flack paced up and down the conference room. "Bitch!" he spat.

"Well, that's a charming welcome!" Don spun round, a look of astonishment on his face.

"Stella!" He wrapped his arms around her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I invited her." Jo smiled as she extended a hand. Stella returned the smile and the handshake, both women asking the same unspoken question. _Anything from Mac?_ "Nothing. You?"

Stella shook her head. "Allow me to introduce Frank Mitford." Stella greeted her old team and once the introductions were made, they settled down to business.

"So who's the bitch?" Stella grinned at Don.

"Elsa Rossi!"

"What?" Stella looked stunned. "What's she got to do with this?"

"Who's Elsa Rossi?" asked Frank looking around the room.

Jo opened her mouth to explain their latest findings but before she could answer, Stella stepped in. "NYPD Interpol liaison. One of our first cases about ten years ago. Mac and I had to work with her on a child pornography ring. She's a devious, ambitious, manipulative, man-eating she-devil ..."

Frank stared at her in surprise. "Wow! So you got on well then?" Frank rolled his eyes at Don who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Frank was clearly a man after his own heart.

Stella bristled. "No I didn't and as for poor Mac ..." Stella shuddered and threw a look that left Jo feeling in no uncertain terms that she had been right about Elsa Rossi from the minute they had met.

"Well Elsa Rossi is still our Interpol liaison but I have a feeling that she is playing for both teams." Jo walked over to the screen and tapped at one of the photographs which she enlarged. "Not one hour after she left us, she sent an anonymous message from an internet café under the name BlackWidow66. This is her leaving the café." Elsa Rossi was pictured flagging a cab and given the look on Stella's face Jo was surprised the screen didn't disintegrate. "Adam is trying to trace her movements as we speak. We believe that she is the link between The Forum and Lucas Mattelli who was leaking details of the mission to rescue Davy Schaeffer."

"She must have known that Jean-Luc Gallet was going to the convention centre; she could have been the one who reported him to The Forum," added Lindsay.

"More than likely," agreed Jo.

"Have you identified his murderer?" asked Frank.

"No, but we have a list of people in the tri-state area who are registered as having Marfan's syndrome." Frank looked questioningly at Sheldon. "It's a genetic disorder of the connective tissue. People with Marfan's tend to be unusually tall, with long limbs and long, thin fingers. They often have to be treated for complications resulting their unusual bone structure – back pain, joint problems etc."

"I've contacted my friend Max in Hawaii. According to him HPD had one eye witness statement in the murder of Lee Chang but it was discredited because the guy had been drinking." Sid opened a file in front of him. "The witness described the man he saw leaving Chang's house as an 'Angel of Death', a giant with white skin and white hands!" Sid looked at them over the top of his glasses. "I don't know how helpful that is but we have compared the murder weapons and they are identical. Lee Chang, Jean-Luc Gallet and Pierre Moreau were all killed by the same person."

"Stella what can you tell us about CTC and the death of Roger Clemens?" asked Jo.

"COD was drowning but he had help. According to my ME sub-dermal bruising is consistent with him being held under water. The size of the marks indicate someone with strong small hands and stubby fingers. What was unusual was that the killer placed a shell in his mouth. It's a round shell generally less than two centimetres, called the L'Oeil de St. Lucie that's to say the Eye of St Lucy.

"His god-daughter's eyes," trilled Danny and Lindsay making Stella and Jo smile.

"It's typically found in Corsica. It has a rounded side and a flat face with a pink spiral. It is considered to be a lucky charm particularly for fishermen, and is considered to bring wealth and ward off the evil eye," continued Stella. "Now I've done some checking and traces of this same shell were found at the crime scene in Baghdad and at the murder of a longshoreman in the port of Marseille."

Frank Mitford nodded as Stella recounted what they had found. "It seems that the Corsican is well known to both the French and Italian police forces. His trade mark is leaving an Oeil de St Lucie in the mouths of his victims as a warning to others not to cross him."

"Do we know where he is now?" asked Lindsay.

"Thanks to my team and a painstaking facial recognition we do." Stella quivered with pride. "Our Corsican friend flew into New Orleans four days ago under the name of Marcello Antonetti. He hired a car claiming to be on vacation. Although he is now off the grid we believe that he could be responsible for the death of Roger Clemens and that he was the one who … diverted … the shipment of perfume."

"And you know this how…?" Danny looked curious.

"Because he hired a speedboat with enough fuel to intercept the Bella Rosa as she came into port. Coastguards reported seeing the Bella Rosa slow down for no apparent reason. It is our belief that someone on board the Bella Rosa, opened the container and somehow passed the crate over the side to our Corsican friend Antonetti." Stella leaned back in her chair with a small shake of her head that sent her golden-brown curls bouncing. "The big question is why would someone go to a lot of trouble to divert a case of French perfume?"

"For the same reason they took my son." Stella and Frank turned around to see General Marty Schaeffer leaning heavily on his stick. "Hello Stella."

"General Schaeffer." Stella immediately rose and approached the old man. "It is good to see you again. I am so sorry to hear what happened to Davy." The old man smiled weakly and nodded. Stella guided him to a chair shocked to see how frail he had become since she last saw him.

Martin Schaeffer sighed as he eased his body into the chair. "Davy decided to take a sabbatical working for a humanitarian mission after he was made redundant from a weapons research corporation. His last project involved developing safety containers for liquid explosives, the kind that could be used to transport minute quantities of explosive and be primed by ordinary soldiers in the field. I kept wondering why al Shabab would hand Davy over to al Qaeda. It didn't make sense unless they knew about his work in this field. From what Jo has told me, these containers may look like perfume but it is highly possible that are in fact bombs … "

"Then that would make the target the New York Convention Centre?" Frank suddenly sat up straighter, his actions mirroring the other occupants. "We have to find that shipment."

At that moment Adam came rushing in his face a picture of joy.

"Oh tell me you have found Elsa Rossi!" pleaded Jo as Sheldon asked if he had identified the mysterious stain on Pierre Moreau's sleeve and Don asked if he had identified Red Hawk.

For a moment Adam look overwhelmed by the barrage of questions. He looked from Jo to Sheldon and then to Don. "Er … no … yes … no! But never mind that now … I have something even better!" Adam grinned at the astonished faces around the table and pointed to the speaker phone in the centre of the conference table. "The boss … on line one!"


	9. The Warning

_**A/N. As you asked so nicely ...**_

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**Chapter 8 – The Warning**

The leather chair creaked as Mac leaned back grimacing at the barrage of voices coming from the speaker phone that sat on the edge of the large, slightly battered wooden desk. Ben Holland kicked the bound and gagged guard wriggling on the floor in the corner of the richly-furnished room with a guttural warning to be quiet.

"Is that Stella there with you?" asked Mac puzzled.

"Yes it is. Where the hell are you Mac?" came Stella's voice, a mixture of relief, irritation and urgency underlying her words.

"Sitting in Amir Benrisi's headquarters," Mac answered nonchalantly as he pulled open a drawer in the desk and rifled through a few documents.

"And who is Amir Benrisi?" spat Jo who was obviously in a similar frame of mind as Stella. Mac could hear her jewellery jingling from the other end of the line. Mac raised an eyebrow as Ben threw him a pitying look.

"See what I have to put up with?" Mac gestured towards the phone making Ben smile.

"What?" echoed several voices from the speaker.

"Er … nothing. Amir Benrisi, also known as Red Hawk99 if his email is anything to go by, is the leader of an al-Qaeda terrorist cell and the one that has been causing us all this hassle." Mac cast a glance at the computer screen watching the little blue bar at the bottom of the screen slowly fill from left to right. Little did he know that a number of glances were being shared by various members of the team clearly recognizing the pseudonym.

"Mac? Does this mean what I think it means?" Mac smiled to himself as Marty Schaeffer's voice boomed from the speaker. Jo seemed to be massing the troops on her side of the pond. "Don't tell me you're back in the compound?"

"Yeah ..." Ben shook his head and grinned at the disbelief in the General's voice. "It's Ben here Sir. We needed to get food, transport and a means of communication and this was … er … our only option." Ben looked at Mac who was looking like the cat that had got the cream as he had been right about the compound being only lightly guarded and probably the last place Amir and his men thought they would go. "Cocky bastard!" he mouthed silently making Mac smirk all the more. "Unfortunately it seems we may have a leak at HQ Sir."

"Yes I know that Ben and thanks to Mac's resident genius here we have identified the culprit. It should be a matter of hours before that particular leak is plugged then it will be safe for you to request extraction." Marty Schaeffer's voice quivered a little. "Is Davy there? Is he all right?"

"Marty he's fine. He's a little weak and tired but as soon as we get him out of here he'll be okay. We're bringing him back." Mac tried to keep his voice firm and resolute to reassure his friend thousands of miles away. Mac turned round as Hicks stuck his head in.

"We've got company. Five clicks to the south."

Ben ran across to the window and scanned the horizon. He could just make out a plume of dust. "Time to pack up and go. Are you boys set?" Hicks grinned and gave him a thumbs up as he ducked back out.

"Mac?" Jo's voice sounded slightly panicked.

"No problem Jo. We've got everything under control. " Ben threw Mac an incredulous look which caused Mac to grin sheepishly. "Stella did you stop the shipment?"

"Not exactly!" Stella sounded a little hesitant. "We've traced it to New York which is why I'm here with Frank Mitford and the team. We believe that they are targeting the Convention Centre."

"Mac, it's Danny. There's a Global Peace Forum starting on Monday. That has to be their target. Do you know what is in the bottles?"

"Danny listen carefully. It's a RDX based explosive. The bomb is primed when the base of the bottle is turned 180 degrees counter-clockwise. It will then only need a small jolt or shake to explode. If it is in proximity to other similar devices it will set off a chain event. I'm sending Adam all I can from Amir's computer which should hopefully provide you with further information about who's involved and what their plan is." Mac glanced at the bar on the computer screen which showed eighty percent. He looked up at Ben who was gesturing urgently towards the window. "I gotta go. You guys be careful."

"Us be careful?" Don's voice echoed loudly from the speaker causing both Mac and Ben to flinch. "Are you crazy? How exactly are … you … going to get out of there?"

"Don quit worrying. We've got it all under control. Big Bertha is on her way to pick us up and we've got a little … diversion ... planned."

"What kind of diversion?" Don didn't sound convinced. Neither did Jo whose jewellery was jingling again and Mac could have sworn that he heard a Greek expletive in the background.

"The Danny Messer kind."

"What?" came a chorus of voices from the other end of the line. Mac lifted a finger and positioned it over the 'end call' button allowing himself a smug little smile.

"Boom!" Mac Taylor's finger pressed the button as soon as he had uttered the word.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

"Crazy son of a bitch!" Everyone turned to face their usually mild-mannered M.E. in astonishment. "What the hell is he playing at?" Sid hands flapped wildly unable to believe his ears as he sat listening to the exchange. Evidently nor could Sheldon Hawkes.

"What exactly did he mean by 'boom'..." he asked staring accusingly at Danny as though Danny had something to do with it. Danny started as Sheldon glared at him and was about to protest his innocence when he realized that Lindsay was looking at him suspiciously too. "... and who the hell is Big Bertha?"

Much to everyone's surprise Marty Schaeffer leaned back in his chair and started laughing. "Oh believe me, it's better that you don't ask but trust me Mac and Big Bertha go way back! He couldn't be in better hands." Ignoring the looks being exchanged by Stella and Jo, Marty Schaeffer turned to Adam who was looking a little shell-shocked by the conversation not to mention flattered by the general's praise. "So Adam, that for me?" he gestured to the folder in Adam's hands.

"Er … yes, all the proof I can find that Lucas Mattelli was passing on classified information about the op to rescue your son … er … Sir." Adam handed him the folder and a USB stick.

"Thank you Adam. You've done a damn fine job. Now I am going to go plug a leak though it looks as though Ben and his team may not need HQ at all." Schaeffer chuckled to himself. "Who would have thought it? Big Bertha's still going after all these years." He tucked the folder under his arm as he rose from the table pausing to see Adam wave a tablet computer at Sheldon.

"Oh … er … Sheldon. I analysed that coffee stain. It is coffee but … I mean … really weird coffee. It's called Kopi Luwak. Apparently it's produced from beans that have passed through the digestive tract of an Asian Civet cat. Can you believe that they pay a hundred and sixty dollars a pound for this stuff? I mean who the hell would want to drink something that has passed through the digestive tract of an Asian Civet cat let alone pay a hundred and sixty dollars for the privilege of doing so?" Adam broke off as the entire room had gone totally silent and were staring at him strangely. He cleared his throat. "Anyway I … er … cross-referenced the list of people who purchased this stuff from the importer here in New York with that list of people with Marfan's syndrome that you compiled." Adam paused to scratch his head. "But what's really weird is that the names don't correspond but both the coffee and medication for one of the patients are both delivered to the same address ..." Adam looked nervously around the room as he realized everyone was hanging on his every word.

"Well don't stop there ..." Jo's hands waved in the air.

"Oh … er … yeah. I've an address of a corporate suite registered to Atlas Defence Industries."

"Atlas?" Marty Schaeffer's look of surprise spoke volumes.

"You know it?" asked Stella.

"Yeah, my son Davy, he worked for them until the Department of Defence cancelled contracts after the announcement of cut backs following the withdrawals from Iraq and Afghanistan. "

"What do we know about Atlas Defence Industries?" asked Jo. Lindsay, who was sitting nearest to a computer terminal typed the name into a search engine.

"Okay … Atlas Defence Industries is a multi-national corporation encompassing five sub-divisions. It covers everything from weapons casings and body armour to specialized armour plating for field weapons." Lindsay selected an option from the screen. "This is it's president and general director, Ambrose Atlas, taken several years ago after a multi-million dollar was signed with the Army." A photograph of a portly man with slicked back hair, expensive suit and that supercilious look that only the rich and powerful can convey stared out at them as he shook hands with a high-ranking official. A number of uniformed officers and civilians stood in the background and among them a face everyone recognized.

"That's Pierre Moreau." Jo stood and pointed to the man on the left of the picture.

Lindsay looked at the screen. "And according to this the man standing next to him is Rodrigo Cortès. Wasn't he one of the members of the Forum that Elsa Rossi mentioned?" Jo nodded, her hackles already rising at the name of Elsa Rossi. "Oh and get this, the man on the far right of the picture is Lee Chang, the man who was murdered in Hawaii."

"So does that make this Ambrose Atlas a good candidate for membership of this … Forum?" asked Frank Mitford.

"I'd stake my job on it," muttered Stella.

"Me too," agreed Jo. "Okay, Adam, let's go see what Mac has sent you. Hopefully it'll lead us directly to the explosives and the bombers before I have to call Sinclair and get him to cancel the Global Peace Forum."

"Yeah. Can't have him inconveniencing all those very important VIP's can we?" muttered Danny which earned him a playful slap from his wife.

"Danny!"

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

The two military policemen entered the darkened operation's room ignoring all present and marched straight over to the young man monitoring the communications link. "Corporal Mattelli, please come with us," ordered the man standing slightly to the right of his chair.

The young man looked up and swivelled slightly in his chair. He swallowed as he saw who was speaking. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice sounding more nervous than he had intended.

"Come with us please. Corporal Highsmith will take your place." Lucas Mattelli looked at the second M.P. and knew he'd been caught. Removing his headphones he stood up and left his place to the confused looking young woman standing a few feet away. With as much dignity as he could he averted his gaze from the varying looks of disgust and astonishment from the other members of the team and quickly left flanked by the two policemen.

"How long till the satellite is in position?" the Major in charge of the operation barked. Corporal Highsmith quickly took Mattelli's place as everyone jumped to their posts. Hands flew to dials and switches ready to provide information as soon as it was asked for.

"Just coming into range now Sir."

"Good. Give me quadrant Delta Five. Main screen"

"Yes sir. Coming up in ten." The main screen flickered to life showing a jumble of pixels that slowly adjusted and refined until a picture of a desert like landscape began to form. The picture zoomed into a quadrant and again the picture fluttered as the pixels arranged themselves into a coherent image depicting a group of buildings surrounded by a wire fence. A cloud of dust appeared to be moving towards the buildings from the bottom of the screen. Corporal Katy Highsmith looked intently at the Major, her hand hovering over the phone in case the Major should call for action. The Major, however, was totally absorbed by the picture.

"How many do you think?" he asked the young fair-haired Captain standing next to him.

"Four maybe five cars. About twenty hostiles heading their way. Can we contact them?"

"Corporal Highsmith, have they turned their transponder on?" Katy Highsmith's fingers flew across the keyboard.

"No Sir."

"Looks like they still don't trust us." Major Todd Kensey rocked back on his heels in the manner reminiscent of one Danny Messer. "Not that I blame them." They watched in silence as the convoy of cars entered the compound. Suddenly every person in the room flinched as a series of explosions shattered the image, the picture breaking up into a myriad of red, yellow and white pixels.

Katy Highsmith's fine delicate fingers were clasped to her mouth in horror. All eyes turned to their commanding officer who, rather than appearing surprised, was reaching for his cell phone. Lifting it to his ear he waited for a second for the call to be answered. "Marty! What exactly was it you said your man was going to do?" He looked around the special operations team as his face twisted into a wry grin. "Boom? I guess that pretty much covers it." He nodded to the screen. "Yep! Looks like they're heading north." All eyes returned to the screen where a single car heading out from the compound was leaving a smaller trail of dust. "Sanders, keep an eye on them just in case. Marty I'll call you back if anything of significance happens but it looks like they have it all under control." He thumbed the phone and stuck it back in his pocket.

"Er … Major Kensey … should we call in … er … air support?" asked Katy Highsmith nervously.

"No Corporal, that won't be necessary. It seems they have arranged alternative transport." Todd Kensey smiled at everyone in the room. "Well people. I consider that a satisfactory result all things considered, hostage rescued, terrorist cell destroyed, team on their way home … we'll keep an eye on them till we lose satellite coverage but it looks like they managing perfectly well without us." Various glances were exchanged as they wondered exactly what kind of alternative transport the team had arranged.


	10. The Cell

_**A/N. Please don't get too mad at me as I've had to leave Mac for a short while to allow the others to catch some of the bad guys but he'll be back shortly I promise ... thanks once again to my faithful reviewers without whom writing would be so much more difficult. Bless you!  
**_

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...

**Chapter 9 – The Cell**

They had commandeered a restaurant one block away from the abandoned bakery. Don Flack stood behind a table with a finger pointed at the blue-prints. Frank Mitford stood on one side and Elias Pope, team leader of the SWAT team stood on his other. All three men were armed and wearing bullet-proof vests. "Okay listen up people." There was a general shuffling as the dozen members of the SWAT team readied themselves. "According to our information, this is an eight-man cell." Don paused as he pointed to a board behind him where seven photographs and a drawing were pinned in the form of a pyramid, the top of the pyramid being the only accurate representation of the man known as the Corsican now going by the name of Marcello Antonetti. "Surveillance indicates that these two have left to get groceries." Don pointed to two faces at the bottom of the pyramid. "We need to hit them hard as soon as they return. It is essential that we prevent them from getting to and arming the bombs." There was a general muttering as Don held up a small blue box and pulled out a what to all intents and purposes looked like an elegant glass bottle with a solid blue base. "It arms like this." Don twisted the base gently. "The slightest knock and … boom!" Several men grimaced.

"Don't worry boys – it's a mock-up," laughed Elias Pope before faking a worried expression. "Er... that is a mock-up isn't it Don?"

Don hesitated and looked at at Elias. Suddenly he banged the bottle against his hand. "Yup looks like it." He couldn't help but grin as several of the tough guys from the SWAT team flinched and uttered a few ripe swearwords maligning Don's parentage. Frank Mitford guffawed. "Anyway, it looks like our guys are living up on the second floor and using the ground floor as work space. You know your positions. It's simple. We take down the suspects, leave the perfume to the Bomb Squad."

"They'll enjoy that," commented one of the team faking an effeminate voice causing the others to laugh. Not two hundred yards away Sheldon Hawkes was briefing the ten man bomb squad using a similar mock-up bottle.

"Our estimate is that each box holds two hundred and fifty-six bottles and there were four boxes in the crate making a total of one thousand and twenty-four." A quiet ripple of dismayed murmurs spread through the group at the number of potential devices. "Now from the information we have received the structure is like this." Sheldon twisted a screen to face them. A sectioned three dimensional model slowly rotated across the screen. "The RDX is held in the upper chamber, the primer in the base." Sheldon pointed to the different elements as he explained. "The whole is surrounded by an outer casing containing genuine perfume so if a bottle was tested it would look and smell like the real thing."

"Do we know what the primer is?" asked one member.

Sheldon looked doubtful. "No it could well be a nitroglycerine derivative, the action of twisting the base mixes the component parts rendering it unstable. We believe that the cell are in the process of adding the primers to a certain number of the bottles and repackaging them. SWAT are going in to take out the cell, the rest is up to you." Sheldon glanced at his watch as the members of the bomb squad studied the mock-up and the chemical composition of the explosives that Mac had sent through from Amir Benrisi's computer. He wondered how the others were getting on.

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"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

**.**_**  
**_

Danny and Lindsay Messer pushed open the doors to the executive suite of Atlas Industries immediately scanning the layout of the offices. An area of open-space with a dozen office workers was visible behind a glass wall to their left and a row of three polished wooden doors all of which were closed stood to their right. Ahead of them was a curved wooden welcome desk fronted with Atlas Defence Industries engraved in perspex. The young fair-haired woman behind the desk had a fixed smile on her face but her eyes registered surprise and a little something else. Nancy looked up aghast to see the two detectives followed by four armed officers enter the foyer and approach her desk. "Can I help you?" she stammered.

"Ambrose Atlas, where is he?" demanded Danny.

"Er … Mr Atlas is not here ..." Nancy involuntarily looked to the right and following her gaze, Danny immediately headed towards the first of the polished wooden doors, his hand on his gun. "You can't go in there … not without a warrant..." Nancy broke off as Lindsay slapped a warrant on the desk in front of her. Noting the commotion one or two people raised their heads from behind their partitions in the open space. Two of the armed officers moved towards them checking for faces. Everyone froze.

As Danny opened the door to Ambrose Atlas' office a slight movement to his right caught his attention. He glimpsed four long white finger-tips quietly close a door at the far side of the office. "NYPD. Hold it right there." Danny crossed the room in seconds and yanked at the door only to find it locked. "Dammit! Lindsay he's gone next door."

Lindsay rushed to the second door but it was locked as was the third. "Keys, she demanded. Nancy fumbled in her desk. "Is there another exit?" Nancy nodded.

"End of the hall," she stammered as she held out the keys. Danny swore under his breath and took off out of the main doors followed by two of the officers.

Lindsay grabbed the keys from her and rushed to the doors. "Who was in there? What's his name?"

"Angel." At the look of shock on Lindsay's face, Nancy swallowed heavily and added. "I think his real name is Angelo Barcotti but everyone calls him Angel. He's Mr Atlas' personal assistant."

"Personal assistant, my ass!" Lindsay flung the door open and rushed across the office to the far door. As she did so she looked down into the street. A dark robed figure was dodging a cab as he dashed for the other side of the street, his almost white hair flying out behind him. Lindsay grabbed her radio. "Danny?" The radio crackled as Danny acknowledged. "He's headed across the street towards the subway. Come on..." she added indicating to the two officers to follow her.

Nancy blinked as they rushed out leaving her standing in the middle of the foyer. Slowly she looked down at the warrant in her hands. A tiny smile tugged at the edge of her lips as she read the name and the charges printed there. She made her way back to her desk and unlocked the special wooden box. She pulled out a gold-wrapped foil packet. Pushing wide the door to the open space, a dozen faces looked back at her questioningly. She waved the packet in the air. "So who wants coffee?"

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"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

.

Danny's feet pounded the side-walk as he dodged around the late afternoon shoppers. People heading towards him separated like the parting of the sea as he and the two accompanying officers plunged towards them. Danny spied a head of long white hair disappearing down the steps to the subway and he swore to himself. Chasing suspects down subways always brought back bad memories. He steeled himself as he headed down after his suspect. His radio crackled as he heard Lindsay giving a description of their suspect. Danny jumped the turnstiles and headed towards the platform. A train had just pulled in and he jumped into the nearest carriage as the two officers continued their pursuit along the platform. Angel turned noticing his pursuers. He jumped into the next carriage as the buzzer sounded and the doors closed. The train pulled out.

Danny made his way slowly up the carriage. Commuters moved away from him as though he had the plague, his vest, his badge and the gun in his hands making them look nervously around the carriage wondering who he was hunting. Danny hid himself to one side of the window and risked a look into the next carriage. He saw a sea of heads turned away from him as the occupants of the next carriage stared at the exceptionally tall pale man with long white hair dressed entirely in black standing by the door. Danny pulled out his phone. "Lindsay? Yeah I've got eyes on our guy. He's heading north." The carriage rocked and Danny dodged back as Angel turned to look in his direction. The train began to slow and Danny risked another peek. "I think he's going to get off at thirty-fourth. He's closest to the Penn Station exit."

Lindsay leaned forward to the officer in front. "Thirty fourth. Penn Station exit." The driver nodded and swung a right and then immediately left. With the siren blaring he pulled up to the subway sign and Lindsay and an officer piled out. "Try to cut him off." Lindsay plunged down the steps and dodged around a woman with a push-chair. Normally she would have stopped to help but Lindsay's mind was on only one thing. A tall individual by the name of Angelo. She flew down the steps and climbed the turnstiles. A sea of people headed up the escalators towards her as she took the stairs downward. A head of white hair appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Lindsay ground to a halt, equalized her stance and raised her gun. "NYPD, hold it right there." Angelo looked up at her as the crowd on the escalator ducked down fearing a fire-fight. Angel panicked and turned around but froze and slowly raised his hands.

"On your knees," came a familiar voice. Lindsay made her way slowly down the stairs as Angelo dropped to his knees with his back to her. As she neared the bottom Danny's grinning face came into view. "Hey babe! Nice timing!"

Lindsay holstered her gun and whipped out a set of cuffs. "Shall I?" she asked politely.

"Oh be my guest." Danny gestured with the tip of his gun. As soon as they had cuffed him and searched him they walked their charge back up to the surface and the waiting squad car. People stared at the incongruous trio, the tall white-haired individual being helped into the back of the car by a smiling young couple.

.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

.

Jo Danville smiled at the young man as he removed the 'Do Not Disturb' sign and slid the card into the slot. He stepped back and gestured politely for the women to enter.

"Wait here please." The young man smiled at Stella until he saw her and her companion move their hands over their guns. He gulped and moved away from the door just in case.

The room was a mess.

"Well she certainly likes to live it up." Jo nodded to the hostess trolley with the empty bottle of champagne and remnants of what looked like a Chateaubriand.

"Yes she does but where the hell is she?" Stella ducked into the bathroom. "Nothing. Looks like she cleared out in a hurry."

Jo nodded as she surveyed the empty drawers and the open cupboards. She went back out. "Does the hotel have surveillance cameras?" The young man nodded. "Good we'll need to see them."

A few minutes later Jo and Stella stood by a row of screens in a small room at the back of the five star hotel. Their eyes flicked from screen to screen searching for a familiar figure. "Okay hold it there." Stella pointed to the left most screen. The security manager of the hotel enlarged the image and rewound the tape a little before pressing play. "It's her." On the black and white screen Elsa Rossi dashed out of the side-door of the hotel dragging a suitcase and into a waiting car. "Can you zoom in on the licence plate?"

Jo repeated the licence plate as she clamped her cell phone to her ear. "It's registered to Atlas Industries," she whispered to Stella. "Adam, it left the side door of the hotel at two fifteen. See if you can find out where they went. Call me back. Okay thanks."

The two women left the hotel. Jo sighed in frustration as she looked at Stella who was quietly furious that Elsa has escaped. "Let's hope the others are having more success."


	11. The Take-down

_**A/N. Thanks once again to my faithful reviewers - just one more chapter for our team to finish rounding up the bad guys with a little teaser to see what Mac has been up to before tomorrow's finale!  
**_

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**Chapter 10 – The Take Down**

The take-down had gone almost perfectly. Don and Frank had waited in the alley as the two cell members returned with food for the rest of the team. Crouched by two well positioned dumpsters, it hadn't been difficult to surprise, subdue and cuff them.

"Two down, six to go." Frank whispered to Don who gave the signal for SWAT to storm the building. One team took out the front door with a heavy battering ram while Don and Frank followed team two in through the back door from the alley. A third team let themselves in through the skylight and surprised the two team members sleeping on make-shift beds on the upper floor. Don and Frank found themselves in a small kitchen cum dining room that was where the two suspects they had already apprehended were obviously headed. A young boy of no more than sixteen stared at them in horror before sticking his hands in the air still gripping the ladle with which he had been stirring the stew.

"Where are the others?" demanded Don. The young boy was clearly terrified but his eyes flicked inadvertently towards the double doors are the far end of the room. As he did so a huge explosion split the air and everyone dived for cover. The doors blew open and a man staggered in his clothes on fire. Spotting an old fire blanket in a canister on the wall above the stove, Don grabbed the handle, pulled it out and pushing the man to the floor to douse the flames. The man groaned as Don patted the blanket.

Don's team leader was already on the radio with his commanding officer. "Fall back, there are other non-detonated explosives." While he grabbed the young boy, Don and Frank pulled the man away from the doors and out into the alley. No sooner had the reached the alley than the sound of a motor-bike engine reached their ears. Turning they saw a stocky dark-haired figure astride a Kawasaki take off, the bike fish-tailing as he applied a little too much acceleration. Both Don and Frank yelled for him to stop and loosed off a couple of warning shots. However the fleeing man didn't stop until he realized his path was blocked by a delivery truck caught at the traffic lights at the far end of the alley. He applied the brakes too quickly and Don and Frank watched him slide forward and crumple as he hit the side of the truck with a resounding bang.

Don looked at Frank. "Well at least we don't have to chase him!" Frank grinned as he and Don headed towards the downed man. "I don't know about you but I always end up having to do all the running."

Frank nodded. "I know what you mean. Tiresome isn't it?" They strolled up to the man writhing in agony on the floor clutching his groin where it had connected with the handle-bars as the bike concertinaed against the metal chassis of the truck.

Don winced. "That's gotta hurt." He stared down at the man immediately recognizing him. "You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. Do you understand these rights that I have read to you?"

"Quoi? Je ne comprends rien!" snarled the man known as the Corsican and currently going by the name of Marcello Antonetti. He glared up at Don and Frank and they could clearly see that he had understood every word.

Frank rolled his eyes. "Vous êtes en état d'arrestation. Vous avez le droit de garder le silence. Dans le cas contraire, tout ce que vous direz pourra et sera utilisé contre vous devant un tribunal. Vous avez le droit de consulter un avocat et d'avoir un avocat présent lors de l'interrogatoire. Si vous n'en avez pas les moyens, un avocat vous sera désigné d'office, et il ne vous en coûtera rien. Avez-vous compris les droits que je viens de vous lire?" Antonetti replied with a string of foul language. "Guess he understood that!"

Don stared at Frank thoroughly disgusted. "You just happen to speak French?"

Frank shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah, just memorized Miranda in half a dozen languages!"

"Oh now that is just … showing off!"

Frank grinned. "Yeah I know, pisses Stella off too!

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

"All in all, an excellent result! Congratulations people. " Sinclair preened as he smiled at all present. "Stella, it was good to see you again. Detective Mitford, the NYPD appreciates your assistance. Now if you'll excuse me I have a press conference. Yes excellent job. Well done!" There was a collective sigh as he left.

"Well I don't know about excellent. My guy hasn't said a single word since he was arrested." Danny huffed and then winced as Lindsay dug her elbow into him. "Our guy," he corrected.

"Well, we're not having much success with our Corsican friend either despite his linguistic skills." Don pointed a finger at Frank who chuckled to himself. Stella and Jo couldn't help but smile at the two of them. If they hadn't looked completely different anyone would have taken them for twins with their same dry humour, sarcasm and mannerisms.

"Well, let's look on the bright side." Jo tried to cheer them up. "We have stopped the terrorists, neutralized the explosives, caught two murderers and we got away without any major casualties despite the explosion at the bakery."

Don nodded in agreement shuddering at the memory of the blast that, at the time, he had assumed had taken out half of the SWAT team. "Yeah Elias and his team were lucky that half of the explosives had already been packed into the van when that fanatic decided to take himself out. It could have been a lot worse."

"So what now?" As usual it was down to Sheldon to ask the all important question.

Jo waved a hand. "We cross the t's and dot the i's. Once our Corsican friend has been processed here for his involvement in the plot to blow up the peace conference he will be handed over to the New Orleans PD to stand trial for the murder of Roger Clemens though it wouldn't surprise me if France requested he be returned there to face charges for the murder of the longshoreman in Marseille, and that's if the Iraqi's don't get him first for the murder of their officials." Jo's bracelets jingled as she waved her hands in the air. "At least that diplomatic nightmare isn't ours!" She exchanged a broad smile with Stella who was clearly of the same opinion. "We have enough evidence to put Angelo Barcotti away for life. Interpol have international arrest warrants out for Ambrose Atlas and Elsa Rossi. They are also liaising with Scotland Yard and the Spanish Police Corps in the arrests of James Grant and Rodrigo Cortès. Vassily Ychenko may be a little harder to find out there in the Balkans but it's only a matter of time."

"Do we know where Atlas and Rossi are?" asked Lindsay.

Stella nodded. "Yes Adam traced them as far as the airport. Atlas had a private jet fuelled and waiting. They filed a flight plan to Spain. From there they flew on to United Arab Emirates." She sighed. "Though we have excellent diplomatic ties with that country we have no extradition treaty and Elsa Rossi is actually a British national. So it's going to be complicated."

"What I don't get is why?" Adam looked up. "Why would Ambrose Atlas and his secret society be involved in an act of terrorism?"

"Money." Stella looked sick as she glanced at Jo who nodded in agreement. "Since the announcement of the withdrawal of troops from Iraq and Afghanistan the Department of Defence is making major cut backs. A large number of contracts have been cancelled and new ones aren't forthcoming."

Jo picked up where Stella left off. "All of the members of the Forum are in some way related to defence. Withdrawals of troops means no need for weapons, uniforms, spare parts, military supplies."

"Crazy!" muttered Sheldon almost to himself. "Funding another act of terrorism in the hope of plunging us back into another war, and all to feather their own nests. These guys deserve to be locked up."

Everyone was silent for a moment, each of them feeling sick that the two main culprits had escaped their clutches and each of them wondering what would have happened if a certain Mac Taylor hadn't stumbled across the plot when he did. The silence was broken by the buzzing of a phone. As they all checked their phones it became clear that the phone in question was in Adam's pocket.

"Er … sorry!" he muttered as he glanced at the screen. "Oh hey it's a message from the boss!" There was a collective sigh of relief as Adam tapped the screen. "Oh cool! He's got a video link." Adam turned to the computer and began to work his magic. Everyone leaned forward in anticipation desperate to see for themselves that Mac was okay having imagine all sorts of terrible scenarios after his last call.

"I do hope he's all right," whispered Lindsay to Danny, her face a mask of worry.

Adam tapped at the keyboard. "Okay hold on. We should be connecting now ..." As the image appeared on the main screen of the conference room, nine jaws dropped in unison. "Whoa … er … Boss! Where exactly are you?"

Mac smiled back at them from the screen. "Staying with a friend."

Lindsay's eyes widened in shock as Danny spluttered. "What the hell?"

Sid blinked several times. "What's that in your hand?"

Mac's face took on a cheeky grin."A Virgin Whore!"

"Sonofabitch!" muttered Flack making Sheldon and Frank jump.

"It's not bad actually." Mac took a sip of the drink. "I don't normally care for vodka and tequila but it's quite refreshing. Nice lime flavour."

Stella and Jo glanced at one another and back at the screen, not quite sure if what they were seeing was some kind of computerized desert mirage. Never in their lives had they conceived of Mac Taylor dressed in white trousers, an unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his bare feet propped up on a bright green sun lounger by an azure blue pool surrounded by palm trees and exotic plants. Behind him a number of men could be seen having a less than friendly game of water polo while a pale young man covered in a large white sheet with an IV attached to his arm, was quietly watching them from a well-shaded lounger at the far side of the pool.

"I've just spoken with Sinclair. It seems that you guys have done a fantastic job. I knew I could count on you." Mac smiled at them. "And I got in touch with General Schaeffer to let him know that I'll be bringing Davy here home soon." Mac gestured to the young man behind him.

Just as Jo was about to speak a large red face with a dripping wet, bushy, grey beard appeared in front of the screen. A well chewed cigar was clamped between his teeth. "How do folks? Don't you worry none now. I'll take good care of your boy here and ship him back Stateside in time for start of business on Monday … well maybe Tuesday or Wednesday." The screen wobbled as the bearded individual picked up the laptop computer. Just before it was switched off he was heard to say. "Come on Mac enough of the chit-chat, we're losing two to one. We've gotta show these new boys how it's done. Then afterwards what do you lads say to a little Sex on the Beach?"

Nine pairs of eyes blinked as the screen went black and a pale blue 'end of transmission' warning blinked in the centre of the screen.

"I think I just experienced a rather strange hallucination," muttered Sid to Sheldon.

"Must have been a collective one if it was!" Adam nodded enthusiastically at Sheldon's response.

Frank Mitford's face took on a puzzled expression as he turned to Stella. "So that's your famous Mac Taylor, serious, by the book, somewhat stern, a little straight-laced, workaholic?"

Stella's face showed a myriad of emotions as Frank quoted her various descriptions back at her. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She gave a 'search me' gesture and shut it again and turned to Jo. "What on earth have you done to him since I've been gone?"

Jo's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Me? … Nothing … I mean … that was … I'm not sure what that was!" Jo broke off as she had no words to describe what she had just witnessed.

Frank Mitford looked around the stunned faces. "Well Stell, I don't care what you say but he looks like a bit of a rogue to me!"


	12. The Escape

..

**Chapter 11 – The Escape**

If, at the time, someone had told Mac Taylor that within twelve hours he'd be sitting by a pool sipping cocktails with an old friend, he'd have laughed in their face. Five minutes after having hung up the phone in Amir's office and with only the barest thought as to how Stella and Jo were getting on together, Mac raced down the stairs and out into the compound. Ben was hot on his heels. "Come on guys. We gotta go. Are the charges set?"

Hicks threw him a quick salute. "Good to go Cap. Ninety second timer."

"Great. Then let's get out the hell of here! Mac you drive." Ben jumped into the back of the Land-Cruiser next to Hicks as Mac jumped into the driver's seat next to Davy who seemed to have brightened up a little since returning to the compound and being given food and medication, not to mention a chance to exact a little revenge.

"You okay Davy?"

"Yeah but I'll be even better when this place goes up. I should have done it before. Blown it all up. I shouldn't have let them make me do that stuff. If they use it ..."

Mac laid a hand on his arm. " It's going be okay. No harm will come to anybody. My team are the best in the world. They will stop it. Right now you need to hold on tight. It's gonna get a little rough!" Ben Holland turned to look at Mac. _A little rough? _Mac pulled a wry face before turning round and, putting the car into drive, he hit the accelerator. He ignored the sound of breaking glass as he took off north. Rogers was sitting in the well between the rear door and the back seats hammering out the back windscreen with the butt of an assault rifle while Hicks was trying to position his feet around a long slim box.

"What the hell is this Rog?"

"A couple of little toys I … er … purloined for you from our friends back there." Curious, Hicks hefted the box onto his knee and opened up the catches on the metal container.

"Oh nice … a little retro by today's standards but one can't be too fussy!" Hicks grinned as he looked at the interior as the car bounced along the dirt track.

"What are they?" asked Davy but before either soldier could respond a series of deafening explosions caused all five men to duck slightly. Mac glanced in the rear-view mirror and nodded, impressed at the result of the charges that Davy and his two companions had rigged from the contents of Amir's bomb-making factory. Mac pressed the accelerator a little harder making the engine grind as it plunged along the road. He prayed that the engine would last them long enough. He glanced at the dash and was concerned to see that the fuel indicator was at zero.

"Did you have time to fill er up?" Mac tapped at the indicator.

Rogers nodded as he tried to brace himself against the seat-back. He was having trouble getting a stable position for his rifle on the back ledge as the car bumped along the road. "Filled her up. You're good for a couple of hundred miles. Indicator's stuck."

"How far to the rendezvous Mac?" asked Ben.

"Probably about another forty miles but how quickly Bertha can get here is another matter." Mac glanced nervously in the rear view mirror. _So far so good._ There was no sign of pursuers, just the curling black smoke from the blazing compound. His knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel and his shoulders ached as he strained to keep the huge car in the ruts. He swore he could feel every stone and bump.

Mac heard the engine labour as it pulled up the rise and crested the hill before plunging down the other side. The wide expanse in front of them was nothing but a rocky desert with the dried out watercourses known as wadis, ridges, and depressions with a sparse covering of scrub vegetation. Mac's blood pressure rose a little higher as this was the most exposed part of their ride. He had to make it to the other side and into the higher ground before Amir and his men worked out where they were. He eased off the accelerator as the car bounced and twisted down the incline. He fought with the gear lever to introduce a little engine braking to control their descent. A glance at Davy sitting next to him showed the young man gripping his bag like his life depended on it, his eyes wide at the speed with which they were heading to the bottom.

Ben gripped onto the back of Mac's seat and twisted around to look behind him. His head almost hit the roof as the car met the floor of the plain and levelled out. Mac geared up and pressed the accelerator to the floor. He felt the engine open up and they flew along. Mac only eased off as they approached the first wadi. He crested the ridge and brought the car onto the bed of the old water-course. Twisting the wheel he followed the course of the wadi heading north west. He could almost hear the sighs of relief as the ride smoothed out a little.

They drove for another two minutes before Rog raised the alarm. "Oh oh! Company at eight o'clock." Ben twisted round and watched as three cars headed down the escarpment behind them. "They're spreading out. Get us outta here Mac."

"Easier said than done." Mac muttered to himself as he realized the sides of the wadi were getting higher. There was no way he could get them out without turning them over. All he could do for the time being was follow the watercourse which was at least taking them in roughly the right direction. Ben, Hicks and Rogers kept an eye on their pursuers until they reached the plain and all but one of them were lost from sight. Suddenly the wadi opened out in front of them where the water course split into two directions. Mac swerved slightly to his left and headed straight for the side of the wadi. The engine complained at the acceleration but the car lifted up off the ground and landed with a jarring thud at the other side. Mac blinked furiously to focus on what was ahead of him. "Oh shit! … Hold on!"

The deep rut had high sides and was a little under two metres wide. Mac knew that they would get stuck if he drove straight into it. He flung the wheel to the right and the occupants of the Land-Cruiser felt it tip at the sudden change of direction. By some miracle the car remained upright but Mac was forced to follow the deep rut which ran north to south. He needed to cut back west as soon as possible.

"Bad guys at five o'clock," announced Hicks as a rattle of gunfire peppered the ground behind them. "Go west Mac."

"I'm trying." Mac searched desperately for a spot where he could cross. But Lady Luck was with them and the ridges were gradually getting lower. Mac spotted a break in the wall and pushed the Land-Cruiser through it, across the bed and up the other side. Rogers started firing back at the car that was catching up with them. "Come on," Mac begged the Land-Cruiser but his foot was already to the floor and he was getting all the power he could from the ageing machine.

"Okay let's see if these babies still work." Hicks pulled a green cylinder from the box at his feet and with a quick twist pulled out the rear to elongate the tube. Davy tried to twist around to see what it was. "An M72 L.A.W." Hicks told him as he armed it. Mac took his eyes of the road a second to see what Hicks was doing. His jaw dropped.

"Are you out of your mind? That thing's got to be at least twenty years old. How do even know it will fire?" Mac was obliged to turn away but he glanced at Hicks in the mirror.

"Only one way to find out." Hicks lowered the window. "Pull her to the right a little and keep her steady Mac."

"And you said I was crazy," muttered Mac to himself as he complied with Hick's request.

"A little covering fire please Rog and force 'em left!" Hicks voice was almost carried away as he leaned out of the window. Ben grabbed hold of the back of his belt to prevent him from falling out. Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds. The pop from the grenade launcher was inaudible over the sound of the engine and the covering gunfire but a loud explosion sent rock and dust flying and the the pursuing Land-Cruiser took off, rolled and landed upside-down to slide into the wadi behind them.

Hicks clambered back inside. "Yep they still work." He grinned at Mac. Davy just stared at them like they were insane.

"One down, two to go," announced Ben. "The other two are way south." Hicks looked past Ben out of the window. "Looks like they're holding a parallel course." One of the radio's they had taken from Amir's men earlier crackled and a brief message was broadcast. Ben frowned. "They're going to try to cut us off at the pass. Mac we're going to have to head north and figure out how to get back to the rendezvous afterwards."

Mac nodded and turned the wheel. "Hold on." The car plunged down into the next water-course and they followed the flat smooth bottom of the wadi north. The radio crackled again. A question, then a response.

Ben grinned. "They've lost sight of us. Keep going Mac." Mac nodded again as he glanced at the dash. It wasn't the fuel indicator sitting at zero that worried him. It was the engine temperature indicator that was at the opposite end of the scale that preoccupied his thoughts.

.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

.

Wendell Grant chewed on his cigar and hummed to himself as he shifted his big bulk in his chair. "Y'all right back there Jimmy?"

A mop of ginger hair appeared in the doorway. "Yeah, that crate of satellite receivers had worked it's way loose. I need to replace that strap." Jimmy threw himself down into the copilot's seat and popped open a can of Bud.

Wendell glared at him. "What about me?"

Jimmy grinned at him cheekily. "Nah, you know you shouldn't drink and fly." Before Wendell could answer a red light started flashing on the panel above his head. Wendell glanced up and murmured something unintelligible. He reached under his seat and brought out a rubber-headed mallet. He gave the panel a firm thunk and the light went out. "You know you're gonna' have to fix that one day, don't ya?" Jimmy asked as he took another swig.

Wendell Grant chewed on his cigar and scratched his thatch of grizzly grey hair as he contemplated the panel. "Been like that for past twenty-three years, ain't about to go messing with her now am I darlin'?" Wendell lovingly patted the console in front of him. The engine noise changed pitch ever so slightly and if Jimmy hadn't known better he could have sworn that the plane was answering back. "So how far are we from the rendezvous?"

"Huh?" Jimmy looked across at the older man as though he had asked him to calculate the speed of light.

"You are supposed to be the navigator. Where are we?" Wendell's cigar bobbed up and down frantically as he waved his hands in the air.

"Er...". Jimmy turned to look at his scope and then at his map. "Er...".

Wendell sighed and rolled his eyes. His nephew was not exactly quick on the uptake but then when he thought about his sister, he realized it was hardly surprising. Wendell grabbed the cigar from his mouth and peered through the windscreen. "Forget it. We're almost there."

Jimmy looked up from the map. "Er … how d'ya know?" Wendell's bushy eyebrows shot up and gestured out of the window with his cigar. "Cos that looks like Mac's work!" Benny squinted at the horizon and then opened his eyes in surprise as a huge fireball rose up into the air accompanied by a big cloud of thick black smoke..

.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

.

Having successfully negotiated the wadi and made it up to the higher ground on the other side of the plain, Mac was obliged to turn back south. Glancing at Davy, he was surprised to see the boy's eyes closed. He touched his arm and Davy stirred and blinked blearily at him. Mac could tell that the medication they had given him was wearing off and that he was exhausted. Mac tried to give him a reassuring smile and was rewarded with a small nod. Ben, Hicks and Rogers scanned the hillside. "There they are. Ten o'clock." Hicks yelled as he grabbed the second M72 from the box. Repeating the same manoeuvre as before, Mac swung them round, Hicks leaned out of the window and Rog provided covering fire. The old Ford 4x4 was no match for the rocket propelled grenade and it somersaulted elegantly through the air before coming to rest on it's side, it's front fender stuck in a rut. "Two down ..."

"... and one heading straight at us!" yelled Mac. Ben managed to pull Hicks back in just as a barrage of small weapons fire peppered the front of the Land-Cruiser. Mac yanked on the hand-brake and spun the wheel turning them a hundred and eighty degrees. All three soldiers turned to face backwards and peppered the modern black SUV following them with as many bullets as they had.

"Captain!" Roger's voice sounded panicked but Mac couldn't see what was happening behind him as he fought with the gears. "Incoming!" Without knowing why Mac suddenly pulled hard to the left. The explosion missed them by several feet but the shock-wave caused the car to buck and Mac's hands slipped on the wheel. A sudden dip took him by surprise and he felt the right hand wheels lift off the ground. Davy slid towards him held only by his seat-belt, the bag slipping from his hands as he tried to hold on. Mac suddenly found himself lying against the driver's side door. The car slid to a halt wedged in a gulley.

Rogers scrambled through the destroyed back window and yanked open the rear door. Hicks and Ben scrambled out beside him. "Cover me." yelled Ben as he spotted the black SUV that had overshot them turn around and head back their way for another pass. Hicks and Rogers took up position as Ben scrambled on top of the car and yanked open the passenger door. He reached in as Mac unclipped Davy's seatbelt and hauled the young man out. "Mac, come on!" The gunfire was deafening as Mac scrambled out after Davy. Ben half-dragged, half-carried Davy to the gulley behind their immobilized car.

"Move it Mac. We're running out of ammo!" Rog shouted as he continued firing. Mac pushed himself up and out and fell to the ground. Scrambling up he reached back inside the car making a grab for Davy's bag.

"Go!" he yelled pushing Hicks and Rogers back towards the gulley where Ben lay with Davy in his arms. They all threw themselves flat as the ground around them danced spitting stones and dust in all directions. The black SUV roared past, two gunmen clearly visible. The driver was showing off as he brought the car into a perfect copy of Mac's earlier handbrake turn ready to make another run. "That way! Go!"

Rogers and Hicks grabbed Davy and headed past their car up the gulley. Ben paused to raise his rifle trying to give them a chance but knowing in his heart that they stood no chance against the men in the SUV. Suddenly he felt pressure on the barrel of the gun as Mac pushed it down. "No need for that. I've got something much better." Ben looked at Mac as he opened Davy's bag and pulled out a small blue object the size of his hand. "You might want to run!" suggested Mac as he twisted the base one hundred and eighty degrees.

Ben stared at him. "Oh shit!"

Mac took off after Ben and the others, yelled at them to get down, then spun on his heel and lobbed the bottle. Not at the Black SUV but at their old faithful Land-Cruiser. The combination of RDX, over-heated engine and an almost full fuel tank was spectacular. Mac felt a blast of heat and flame roll over him as he threw himself down. Another smaller explosion announced the destruction of the other SUV as it's fuel tank exploded caught in the blast from the first. For a few moments no one moved then all five men, having decided that they were, in fact, still alive rolled over and lay on their backs gazing up at the huge cloud of black smoke rising slowly into the sky.

A few minutes later the sound of a plane approaching caused them to turn. They watched as the plane touched down and gently rolled past them to turn and taxi back stopping some thirty feet away.

"What the hell is that?" asked Hicks aghast as he and his two companions stared at the plane.

Mac got up a little gingerly trying not to wince at the bumps and bruises. "That is Big Bertha." Mac gestured to a painting of a buxom fifties pin-up girl just under the pilot's window.

"No, I mean what is that? What kind of plane?"

"Oh … it's an Ilyushin Crate!" Mac did his best to keep a straight face. "She's a real collector's item. There are not many of them flying these days."

Ben Holland, who was patting the back of his head convinced that his hair was on fire, took a step back and glared at Mac. "Not many of them flying!" Ben looked at Mac horrified. "I'm not surprised. Just look at it. That thing has to be over fifty years old!". The door of the plane creaked open and a grey, grizzly bear of a man stuck his head out and waved.

Mac nodded. "Fifty-six to be precise but it's best not to mention a lady's age!" He ignored the stares of the three soldiers and headed towards the plane, his hand raised in greeting.

"You fella's need a lift?" Wendell yelled. "Cos you'd better hurry up before they send someone to investigate why an unidentified plane is flying around their airspace! They're a bit sensitive about that kind of thing round 'ere."

Hicks and Rog carefully carried Davy into the plane, followed by Mac and Ben who was still eyeing the unpainted cigar-shaped Crate with suspicion. Within minutes they were in the air. Wendell swapped places with Jimmy giving him instructions to keep the plane below the radar. Ben and Hicks had managed to get Davy comfortable across two seats. He was wrapped in a blanket and propped up against a large bundle. His eyes were closed and Hicks was rummaging through a bag that Jimmy had given him earlier impressed at the selection of medical supplies they kept on board.

"You got everything you need?" Wendell asked gruffly as he descended into the modified cabin.

Hicks nodded. "You're very well equipped." Wendell took that to be a compliment about his beloved plane. "Aye she's a beauty isn't she? Picked her up just after the first Gulf War. It was love at first sight." Hicks cast a glance at his two colleagues before looking at Mac. They all appeared to be seriously contemplating the question as they took in the somewhat rudimentary interior from the two rows of seats at the front of the plane. Ben glanced nervously at one of the portholes that was held together with duct tape; he hadn't quite got over the large blackened scar on the left wing that if he had to guess looked like it had been caused by a surface to air missile. Hicks glanced at the crates and the jumble of odds and ends that were strapped to the sides of the plane including a shiny new racing bike, a pile of old tyres and a wedding dress in a plastic cover while Rog leaned over the back of the faded leather chair to investigate what turned out to be a pair of pot-bellied pigs rooting around in a bowl of vegetables at the bottom of a large wire cage. "Refreshments are in the cooler." Wendell gestured towards an old Frigidaire that had been bolted to the bulkhead and looked almost as old as the plane.

Rog, being the closest. opened the cooler and grinned as he grabbed a beer and tossed it to Ben. "Wow is that caviar?" He pointed at a dozen large cans.

Wendell grabbed his cigar. "Ah that's off limits! That's a … gift for … an important client."

"You mean a bribe?" Mac grinned at his old friend as he too caught a beer tossed at him by Rog.

Wendell grimaced feigning a shocked expression. "Mac! How could you suggest such a thing? Bribe is such a crude word. Now you boys sit back and enjoy the ride. We'll be home in time for Pina Coladas!"

"Wendell?" Jimmy called from the cockpit. "That light thing's flashing again. Do I hit it?"

Wendell rolled his eyes. "Excuse me. Better get back. Kid's a great pilot but not much of a map reader. I'd better take over before we end in up in Iran!" All four men's eyes widened as they slowly leaned towards the centre aisle to watch Wendell climb into the cockpit and take his place at the controls. He reached under his seat and then hit the flashing red light with a rubber-headed mallet. As he turned and give them a thumbs up they all leaned back and simultaneously took a very long pull at the cans of beer.

"Pina Coladas sound good!" commented Rog.

.

_**A/N. Hope it was worth waiting for and you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**_


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"I am going to kill him!" Stella almost shot out of her skin as Lacey burst into her office with the speed of a Tasmanian Devil.

"What? Who?" Stella watched as Lacey grabbed the remote control from Stella's desk and pointed it at the TV suspended in the corner.

"Frank. That's who." Lacey jabbed a finger at the remote trying desperately to find the right channel.

Stella put down her report and thought for a second. "I thought he was visiting his mother?"

"Visiting his mother my ass! Ha ha!" she announced as she finally found the right channel. "Does that look like he's visiting his mother to you?" Lacey plopped the remote down on the desk, and crossing her arms gave a distinctive little shake of her head and shoulders that she always did when something had made her mad. Stella squinted at the screen and blinked. She reached out and picked up her phone and skimming through the list of names she tapped the screen.

"Hi! It's Stella. Have you seen the news? I think you may want to switch on the TV. CNN."

One thousand, three hundred and nine miles away, Jo Danville's forehead creased into a frown. "O ...kay! … It's Stella," she whispered as she stood comparing notes with Lindsay in the corridor. Being closest to the break room she headed in that direction. Danny, Sheldon and Adam were all sipping coffee studying a large grasshopper in a jar when she walked in followed by Lindsay. Danny looked at her questioningly. Lindsay mouthed the word Stella and pointed to the TV. Curious, they turned in unison to watch as Jo grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. "CNN?" Jo flipped through the channels. A breaking news banner scrolled across the bottom of the screen. 'Industrialist to be deported to the United States.' The presenter held his microphone close to his mouth as he shuffled his way through the crowd. Cameras flashed and voices could be heard shouting.

"In a dramatic turn of events, Ambrose Atlas, head of the American corporate giant Atlas Industries has been arrested tonight in a joint operation by local authorities and United States law enforcement officials. According to sources within the government he is suspected of funding a failed terrorist attempt as well as multiple accounts of conspiracy to murder." The camera cut away from the reporter and zoomed past the row of soldiers holding back the crowds to focus on a man being escorted towards a police car, it's lights flashing brightly in the darkened street.

What the hell?" Danny pointed at the screen. "It can't be…"

"Donald Flack Junior!" gasped Jo. "Did you know about this?" Jo listened to Stella's response. "Visiting his mother? Don is supposed to be at his cousin's wedding."

They all watched Ambrose Atlas glare at someone off camera as he was pushed into the back of the car. The camera cut back to the reporter who was announcing where the arrest had taken place.

"... in this luxury villa on the outskirts of the city." As the reporter stood back a single figure could be seen standing silhouetted in the doorway. The camera seemed to automatically zoom in on him as though inexorably drawn towards the enigmatic figure.

Jo slammed the remote control down in frustration. "Oh I don't believe it! I'll give him guest lecturer ..."

.

"_**CSI:NY – CSI:NY – CSI:NY"**_

.

Ambrose Atlas was furious. He had lied, bribed and blackmailed his way into the country and he thought that he would be safe. After all there were no extradition agreements in place yet here he was being frog-marched out into the street like a common criminal. He kept his face devoid of all emotion as he ignored the flashes from the cameras and the questions being shouted at him. He ignored it all raising himself above the chaotic scenes around him but, as he felt the hand on his head push him into the car, he couldn't help but look back at the man who, some forty minutes earlier, had entered his house with a dozen local policeman and announced his arrest. As their eyes met he poured all his hatred and contempt into his regard. Most people would have flinched if not literally cowered in front of him but this man didn't. He merely stood there, his feet slightly apart, his hands by his sides, silhouetted in the light cast from the bright interior of the villa. All the planning had been for nothing, covering all the angles, and all the eventualities had been for nought. Despite the contingency plans and the resources at his beck and call Ambrose Atlas had been brought to his knees by the one thing he couldn't plan for, that rogue element.

The car door was slammed closed and the car drew away. Reporters continued their reports to camera as others tried to interview local officials. Frank Mitford and Don Flack smiled at one another and made their way across the street watching as the news vultures gathered around Mac Taylor. He gave a short statement, thanking the local authorities for their assistance, praising the local police force and generally making the local diplomatic community very happy.

"You know I think he was a little disappointed that Elsa Rossi wasn't there too." Don commented as he leaned against the car.

"What? That … how did Stella put it?" Frank Mitford thought for a second. "Yeah that's it … that devious, ambitious, manipulative, man-eating she-devil?"

Don grinned. "Yeah that's the one. Apparently things got pretty hot the last time they worked together." Frank sniggered and nudged Don as Mac walked over to them. "I think he would have enjoyed taking her down." Both men sniggered even more as Mac approached them with a look of suspicion on his face.

"So are we good to go?" Mac asked eyeing the two. Noting someone behind them, he raised a hand in greeting. Frank and Don turned to see Mac's friend Wendell.

"Yep, what do you boys say to a few Margaritas or how about a Tequila Sunrise?"

Frank and Don nodded enthusiastically as they piled into the old Cadillac to head back to Wendell

's villa. They grinned at one another glad that they had blackmailed Mac into bringing them with him. As Mac slid into the passenger seat, he looked at Wendell. "So how did you do it?"

Wendell attempted to look innocent which was pretty difficult to do with a half-chewed cigar in the corner of his mouth. "Do what?"

Mac arched an eyebrow. "Expedite matters so quickly. I thought we would have to jump through hoops to get all the right paperwork and court orders. What did it cost you?"

Wendell sighed, "A case of Dom Pérignon, a 1973 Stutz Blackhawk identical to the one owned by Elvis and a box of Yorkshire Curd Tarts."

"Whoa ... you've gotta be kiddin' me?" Don gasped as he and Frank exchanged looks of astonishment, as they too had expected the whole thing to be an administrative nightmare until Wendell turned up with a case of paperwork for Mac and the local chief of police with whom he seemed to be on very friendly terms.

"Yeah it was hell. I'm tellin' ya!" Wendell punched a button on the dash and Van Halen's Dance the Night Away filled the car. "Do you how hard it is to get Yorkshire Curd Tarts?"

.

**The End.**

**Thanks so much for reading!**


	14. Author Note

Maybe you're all wondering what happened to Elsa Rossi! Well I decided that our two favourite girls got a little short-changed in that story when it comes to the action sequences and I actually quite enjoyed writing them together. Also, of course, being on different continents, Elsa didn't get her wicked way with Mac as one of my reviewers so kindly pointed out so I thought I would delay that particular story for a sequel coming right up after I have finished a sequel to Elliot!


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